After eating a soy protein plate with extra green stuff, followed by reading up on the newest fashion designer haircuts in We Give A Shit magazine (mullets are back in, according to this particular periodical that most people couldn’t give two shits about,) I received a text from Riker that they were ready for reality #3. I tossed the magazine into the recycle bin and made my way to the Portal room.
Riker and Texas greeted me as I walked in. I noncommittally waved and sat down on a swivel stool to change out the battery in my datapad. Lab Cutie #7 sat down next to me and asked some health-related questions, which I answered without any problems. Next, she pulled out a Geiger Counter and waved it in front of me.
“Umm.. I thought you said the machine was safe,” I loudly said to Riker as I watched the wand go up and down.
“It is safe,” Riker assured me from behind his Holomonitor. “We are going to check you for radiation from the realities you are coming from. The machine doesn’t give off any radiation. You are protected from the machine’s powerful radioactive output. Don’t worry,“ Riker smugly smiled, “You have nothing to worry about from the machine. What we worry about is the realities you are coming from. What If you walk into World War III? You have to be cognizant of these things, Vincent.”
“Hmm,” I muttered. “You’re right. Let’s just hope I don’t run into World War III. ‘A guy from another reality, a janitor, and World War III walk into a bar…”
“I don’t get it,” Texas snorted. “Why would World War III walk anywhere?”
“Never mind. It wasn’t that funny to begin with. We ready?”
“Step on up!” Riker exclaimed, and everyone in the room started clapping.
“Okay, are you guys gonna clap every time I step up here?” I questioned. “Cause if you are, it’s going to get real old, real fast.”
“Sorry Vincent,” Riker apologized, his face slightly red with embarrassment. “We rarely get excited about anything. Can we golf clap, or at least whistle?”
“Sure, whatever,” I responded as I stepped onto the platform. “Just take down the enthusiastic clapping a notch.”
“Who doesn’t like excited clapping, and Little Debbie snack cakes?” I heard Texas mutter under his breath.
I sighed. “Let’s get this going!”
Again, with the swirling metal and flashing electric pulses. Again with the brilliant flash of light within the metallic cocoon. Again, reality swirled into emptiness. Again, suspended in time and space.
Again, I thought of farting. Would I even notice if I did? Would God notice?
* * * * * * *
I reappeared onto a grassy, mossy expanse of green shrubs and fallen trees. Gigantic fallen trees. As my vision adjusted to the damp emerald colors, I could finally see the monstrous red bark towers of life dwarfing all other sentient life above me, hundreds of feet high, filtering out the sun’s rays.
Where have I seen these before, I wondered to myself as I stepped off the platform. As the portal dissipated, recognition set in as snapped my fingers.
“These are the Redwoods in Western Utah,” I gasped out loud. As I had mentioned earlier, Utah stretches all the way to the Pacific like a big fat panhandle, dwarfing Oklahoma’s dinky excuse for a handler of pans.
Utah isn’t known for being a tourist destination, and most of the time visitors are anything but welcome. People have snuck in to see Utah’s wilderness before and have taken breathtaking pictures, but it is such a dangerous journey that only the craziest sons of bitches attempt it.
I had always wanted to see the Redwood forest, as had much of the United States, but never had the opportunity to do so. Yet there I stood, knee deep in grass and moss, with the towering icons of nature calmly asserting their hold on this part of the world.
I sat down in awe, and snapped some pictures with my Datapad. Nearby, a squirrel chirped. I could hear a woodpecker slamming its beak into the bark. Other birds I cannot name sang their lines, a chorus of natural melody that is rarely heard back home. I plopped myself on a log and enjoyed the spectacle for a few more minutes as I munched on a granola bar and tried to goad the squirrel to come say hi.
“Even if I don’t meet my alternate reality, this makes it all worth it,” I said to the squirrel, who only got close enough to sniff me from a distance.
Then it got quiet. The squirrel disappeared up a tree, the birds stopped their talking, the woodpecker gave up its constant jackhammering. It became deadly silent for a few seconds, and then I heard what had spooked the animals.
Gunfire. The recognizable sound of bullets flying through the air could be heard faintly in the distance, shattering the splendor of nature’s greatness.
“What the Hell?” I wondered as I stood up and packed my granola bar back in my satchel. With the other hand I grabbed the home button, ready to use it in a split second’s notice if things got messy.
A low, rumbling BOOM thrust its way into my ears, rolling through the forest, followed by further rumbling sounds. I pulled out the Datapad from my bag.
“Jeeves, what the Hell is happening?” I whispered low.
“Sir, you need to either leave right now, or find shelter,” Jeeves calmly responded. “My scan shows that we are in the midst of a battle, and the booms you are hearing are artillery shells.”
“I can’t leave yet,” I panicked. “I’m here to observe, and find-“
“Sir, duck!” Jeeves Interrupted.
Above me, an artillery shell slammed into one of the massive trees, sending splinters the size of small farm animals to shower down around me. I grabbed my satchel and hid under a downed tree a few feet away that had some space under it, and just in time too. A six-foot splinter slammed down inches from where I previously stood.
“Jesus Christ,” I swore as I went to push the home button that…was no longer in my left hand. Fear struck me, like a hammer nailing home its target. I’m sure my face went as pale as the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“Jeeves,” I screamed as more artillery shells found their targets, unleashing a deadly torrent of splintered showers all around me. “Where the Fuck is the Home Button?”
“it is seven feet to your left, Sir,” Jeeves calmly said after I turned up his volume. “It is currently buried underneath the large shank of wood where you were previously standing, sir.”
“Is it damaged?”
“No, sir. It is almost impossible to destroy.”
A small sense of relief washed over me, allowing some color to re-introduce itself to my face. “What the Hell is going on?”
“My initial scan shows two separate armies closing over this position. It appears that the army to the south is attempting to flank the second army’s position to the north by going through the forest. The forces to the north must have received word of this, and are firing artillery into the woodlands to discourage the forces from the south to attempt their flanking maneuver.”
“Well, shit. Got any ideas?”
“Your highest chance of survival is to stay covered until the shelling is over. Where we are at is the second-best position within thirty meters, Sir.”
“Guess we’ll stay here then, and hope for the best.”
“Of course, sir. If the situation changes, I will let you know.”
“Thanks, Jeeves.” I minimized the AI program on the Datapad and opened its music player. I turned it to random, plugged in my wireless headphones and scrunched down into the mud and moss under the deadfall to wait out the shitstorm raining down around me. My favorite band, Gus and the Killer Bees, drowned out the Hellish scene I found myself in with their electronic-metallic tones:
Blanketed sounds, deleted dreams,
Floating on serenity’s scenes
Of flashing emotions and dizzying light,
Grasp it all for a more prophetic night,
For the world doesn’t end until we say it does.
Gus and the Killer Bees, in my opinion, is the greatest Electronic Metal band ever. I hope someday their albums can go multi-reality so everyone can listen to them. Their album, What Is Wrong With That Guy’s Face? transcends generations.
I am not sure how long I sat there, listening to the music. It felt like hours had passed, but it might have been minutes for all I knew. Eventually, the wooden rain stopped its barrage. I turned off the music and pressed the AI button.
“Talk to me, Jeeves.”
“The artillery shelling has stopped sir. The regiment to the South has faded back beyond the river three miles to our Southwest. Radar scanning shows a small force from the North moving our direction. It is too small to be a full division of troops. I suspect it is a scouting party. It is less than a quarter mile away.”
“What do they have to scout?” I wondered. “How many trees they blew to shit?”
“Doubtful, Sir. You may want to consider that someone in the scouting party could be your alternate self.”
“Noted. You sure it’s safe to come out?”
“Some of the trees might be precariously standing on their own power, but the artillery bombing is done, as it would not be strategically sound to place the scouting party at risk.”
“Keep me informed,” I muttered as I wedged my way out from under the deadfall. As I stood up, I gasped at the scene before me.
The entire forest floor was covered in bits of wood. Looking up at the trees it almost looked like someone had taken gigantic bites out of their flesh.
“So much destruction,” I whispered as I tried to lift the gigantic shard of wood that had sat on my only way home. It wouldn’t budge.
“Well, this isn’t good,” I complained, grunting and groaning as I tried to move the extremely heavy piece of lumber.
“Sir, the scouting party is moving towards our position rapidly,” Jeeves warned.
“Do you ever give good news?” I sarcastically queried as I attempted to push the timber over with all the strength I could muster.
“Sir, I advise you to-“
“Unless you can find a magic way to move this God Damn giant paperweight off the only way home, just shut up for a second.”
“Noted, sir.”
I attempted to wedge some space under the wood using other shards laying around, but it didn’t work. After a few minutes of trying to push/pull/shove/swear at the rock into moving, I kicked it and sat down in frustration, head down in anger.
The sound of a gun hammer being cocked back thrust its way into my frustration.
“Raise your hands, slowly, or I will shoot you,” warned a graveled voice eerily similar to mine. I raised my hands and looked up to see the face attached to the voice.
Like Vincent #2, it was like looking at yourself at a hall of mirrors show at the carnival. The face that looked down at me from the barrel of a rifle was indeed my own, but just off enough for me to question whether or not this was indeed a reflection of myself. I could tell that he was thinking the same thing as he looked down at me, his bearded, dirty face trying to grasp the reality of what he was witnessing. Even after the portal’s AI notified him of his incoming visitor, how could he not interject reason into the ridiculous notion that his alternate self was coming to visit?
I could see the hesitation in his eyes, the thousand questions that swirled inside his mind as he attempted to rationalize the situation.
“Sometimes, it is easier to accept the absurd, then accept the normal,” I calmly spoke, hands still raised. “Now I know what I would look like with a beard.”
The eye behind the crosshairs blinked, and the gun was lowered. “My God in Heaven, I pray that I am not insane,” Vincent #3 whispered as he turned on the safety to his gun. “It’s safe, boys. I can’t explain it, but this man is no harm to us.” He reached out a hand, which I accepted, and as he helped me up I could see three other men all dressed like Vincent #3, head to toe in camouflage gear, rifles and guns strapped to their backs and hips.
“Now that there are more of us here, would you mind helping me with something real fast? Under this immovable piece of timber is my way home. Can you help me push it up enough for me to grab it?”
Vincent #3 waived the men over and with some extra manpower, we managed to push over the paperweight enough for me to grab the Home button.
“Thank God,” I mumbled as I put the button in my pocket and turned back towards the troops. “Now, who wants to hear a batshit crazy story about how I got here?”
