Paragon of Weaponmasters

I push the stroller down the slight slope leading to the underside of the enclosure. It looks like an aquarium without any fish.

"Daddy, why are the polar bears here?" Millie asks me.

"There could be lots of reasons. Sometimes they wander into town and have to be moved away so they don't get hurt or hurt anybody. Their home is melting so maybe they needed this one. We'd have to ask a zookeeper." I tell her.

She sniffles. Then comes the full blown crying. I get down to her level.

"What's wrong sweetie?" I ask, rubbing her back.

"I don't want their home to melt." she tells me, coming close to cry on my shoulder.

"Oh honey." I hug her back.

Her brother starts crying in the stroller. A little occupied at the moment, I look to their mother for assistance. She's ram-rod stiff, completely unmoving. I don't think she's even breathing. She's just standing there next to the stroller.

Since when is she four feet tall?

A bright light from the enclosure steals away my attention. A polar bear swam right up to the glass, a magical moment if not for his huge, red, glowing eyes. as we stare at each other, the illumination grows, slowly blinding me. The world is red.

I'm standing in the hallway outside of my bedroom. Sounds that should only be heard when I'm in the room with my wife echo through the door. I turn the knob, and find her in bed with our friend Frankie.

"Luke!" she yells, covering herself with the blanket.

Frankie lays there, naked and unashamed, with his rock-hard abs and endowment worthy of envy.

"Frankie is a woman," I tell the pair. "and we don't have a son."

Both of them stare blankly at me. The sun shining through the open window paints the room red.

The light on the desk in the interrogation room blinds me. deliberately, I'm sure.

"This will all go a lot smoother if you just tell me the truth." The cop across from me says. He's white, slightly pudgy, with a bushy mustache. if you googled "cop" he would be the first result. He's even wearing his aviators indoors.

"Thunderspank sold me all of his equipment, and I used it." I tell him, not for the first time.

He slams his fist down on the metal desk.

"Bullshit! How'd you even equip it?" his spit flies in my face.

"I don't know." I say calmly.

He draws his service revolver and unloads a dozen shots into me.

Castle Deathmore looms on the cliff-side, illuminated by lighting on the otherwise pitch-black night. The dark gray brickwork supports the enormous skull above the portcullis, oozing tears of lava down into the infinite mote abyss below.

I ride atop my ever-loyal steed, Swiftwind. His pure white mane and coat reflect what little moonlight there is. Brushed raw and weighed down by heavy armor, the mighty horse maintains elegance and composure.

My squire, Petorius, walks alongside us.

"The Demon King knows you're coming, sir." he tells me in his annoying, nasally, whiny voice.

"Good." is all I say, as I am the protagonist that seldom speaks. Truly, there is nothing more masculine than talking as little as possible.

As we cross the drawbridge, it begins collapsing, as an imp cuts the chains holding it. Swiftwind, being the quickest and smartest horse to ever live, simply uses the falling platform to jump into the castle, just as the gate closes behind us.

"Remember me!" Petorius screams as he falls.

I grunt.

We ride all the way into the throne room, I encourage Swiftwind to relieve himself on the red carpet leading inside. He does, much to my amusement.

"So you have finally arrived." The Demon King says in a voice almost as deep as mine.

I grunt. Gods, I'm so cool.

"Esquire, slay my foes!" I use my catch-phrase, the longest sentence anyone has ever heard me utter.

I throw my sword, it clatters to the floor, scraping the rug.

"Esquire?" I plead.

The Demon King charges his Malevolent Bolt of Doom and Permanent Death.

"Malevolent Bolt of Doom and Permanent Death!" he announces, reducing me, and Swiftwind, to ash.

The dentist inspects my tusks with sharp implements, scraping and grinding away painfully.

"You really ought to brush more." he says for the thirteenth time.

I only came in because all of my teeth fell out. All of them except my tusks. I can see them in the reflection of his protective glasses, spattered with gore. Whatever he's doing is causing the bleeding to worsen. I cough, and gag, and strain against the restraints on my wrists as I drown in my own blood.

"You really ought to brush more." he says for the fourteenth time.

The five at the inn are dogs playing poker.

The four at the inn are happier without me there.

"Get down please! You're too big!" the ride attendant tells me. The water-slide says "Under 100ft only"

"I'm not that big." I tell the water-slide.

My foot touches the edge of the slide as it grows. My feet become as long as I am tall. The stairs and platform behind the slide begins to creak and groan.

"Jump!" the attendant tells the other patrons. they leap over the sides without hesitation, screaming all the way down to their deaths.

"I'm not that big." I insist, even as my head breeches the shade above the platform.

The entire structure, slide and all, collapses under me. I try not to cause much damage, but now I know how Godzilla feels. Even shifting my foot slightly causes property damage.

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The army has been called to deal with me. A tank blasts a hole in my ankle, causing me to topple over, crushing what remains of the water park. A water tower enters my brain.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Even in the air conditioning, putting the final touches on my surprise is hard work.

I hear the front door unlock, and scramble. It's not ready yet!

"Hey Luke I'm home" Trinne announces. "Hi baby."

"Meow" says baby.

Good, that cat will keep her busy. I manage to get everything in place before she finds her way to the bedroom.

She freezes when she opens the door, fully dressed for work.

"What's all this?" she asks.

"Happy anniversary!" I say at the same time.

"Happy anniversary." she responds first.

"You've been talking about how much you miss home, so I brought home to you!" I tell her, gesturing to the decorations. A beach chair sits in a kiddie pool full of sand. I press play on my phone, the speaker nearby makes ocean waves. I hold up her old bikini, waggling my eyebrows.

"I'm so gross coming home from work. Let me shower first." she tells me, walking past me to the bathroom.

"Oh ok." I say, quietly.

A moment later she peeks her head out from the bathroom door.

"You coming or what?" she asks.

I almost trip over my pants as I rip them off mid-stride.

As I step through the bathroom door, the steam clears to reveal the character Calculester from Monster Prom. They are just as surprised to see me as I am to see them. They cover their boxy, gender-less chest and pelvis with their hands and shriek like a fax machine.

I see something in the mirror, when I turn to look I see the character where I'm standing. I move my hands to my face, and touch the glass screen. I try to scream, but it comes out as one long beep.

I'm sitting at my desk in math class. The teacher has just introduced us to base 60 math. He asks me why I'm in my underwear. I ask why he isn't. The class laughs.

Contagious like a yawn, patients in the waiting area cough. One after another, they release a spray of spittle into the air. The droplets are magnetized to me, following me no matter how far or fast I run. I fall to the floor, and they wriggle between my fingers as I cover my mouth. The beeping of heart monitors surround me, growing louder as I gasp and choke on the infected air.

"This is going to set us back weeks. You have to call them back and tell them you lied." my boss tells me in an eerily calm voice.

"Okay." I respond, shrinking into my office chair. When I'm the size of a mouse, he towers over me, glaring silently. Expectantly. I wheeze, and sniff back tears, but hop back on my wheel regardless of how much it hurts. No matter how hard it is to breathe. All my colleagues are in their own wheels, staring at me with judging eyes. All but one.

One I would've considered a friend lays on the ground, blood leaking from his snout. His tail thrashes and his whiskers twitch, as the last light of life leaves his eyes.

A new rat steps over his corpse and takes his place on the wheel, running faster than I ever could.

"No one is sick." my boss announces, grabbing our attention. "No one is sick."

As if on queue, two rat workers cough. One sprays the inside of their wheel with blood, making them slip on the next rotation. Our boss move to them, sliding a primed mouse trap in front of them.

"It would be easier for all of us if you just quit. Don't make me fire you." he says.

The mouse, head hanging low, stumbles into the trap. It snaps shut, killing them instantly.

"The workload has increased. you will not be receiving increased pay." the boss whispers.

A display above us reads Production - 100%. Pay - 25%

"That doesn't seem right." a new mouse I don't recognize dares to say. Like catching the attention of a wrathful god, he is lifted high above us in the grasp of a giant's hand. He is dropped from a great height, directly onto a glue trap.

"You'll retire when you can afford to. You'll have a house when you can afford to. You'll have kids when you can afford to. You'll eat when you can afford to. You'll breathe when you can afford to." the boss says with a thousand voices, authority beyond comprehension.

"Never. Never. Never. Never. Never." We all chant in response.

"And you'll thank us for the opportunity." the boss adds.

"Thank you!" we all shout, desperate to exude the enthusiasm expected of us.

one rat didn't quite manage to force the contempt from their voice before joining the call and response.

The boss leans over at the waist, eye hanging just above the offending rat. He hovers there, unmoving and unblinking. The rat runs faster and faster to make up for her mistake, the fat melts off of her body. Then the muscle. Then the fur, and the skin. A skeletal rat clatters loudly in the wheel, falling apart and sending pieces flying.

"You." the boss turns his attention to me. "Here." he picks me up tail-first, painfully carrying me to the now empty wheel. It is smoother, with more resistance built in. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"We're here in the hills of West Virginia, hunting the elusive Mothman." Paul tells the camera. I stand next to him, awkwardly. My wings flutter. "They say the Mothman is an omen of doom. There are sightings at every major disaster in history. 911, Chernobyl, January 6th."

I clear my throat. Does he not see me?

"Did you hear that?" he whispers. "I think that might have been him." Paul pulls out his phone, a video prepared on screen. He presses play, the hissing of a death's head moth echoes loudly through the trees. "This ought to draw him to us."

"Why?" the camera man asks.

"Because it's a moth mating call, duh." Paul responds.

"That's a distressed sound." The camera man tries to put it gently.

"Well, the maybe its maternal instincts will kick in!" Paul yells back.

"Mothman's Maternal instincts?" camera guy emphasis the man half.

"Yes!" Paul yells, raising the volume on his phone.

The screech of a death's head moth continues for another minute before Paul gives up.

"Whatever." he shoves his phone roughly into his pocket, and marches off without checking for his camera man.

"That sure was something." I say.

"I know, right?" The camera man moves the huge thing out of the way and I can finally see his face.

"Bigfoot?" I gasp

My desk phone rings for the second time in a minute.

"I needed those reports yesterday." My boss tells me. What a rare delight, he's here to berate me in person.

I don't mention how he hasn't brought up this report before this very moment.

"On it sir." Is what I say instead.

He grunts in response, moving on to the next poor bastard.

my phone rings again. I sigh and pick it up.

"What?" I say. I can see who it is on the caller ID.

"We're in the E.R." Trinee tells me, twice the agitation in her voice as mine.

I almost rip the phone cord standing up suddenly.

"What?" I ask.

"She tripped and broke her leg. You don't need to come, but I thought you should know." she says, and hangs up.

"God damn it." I say under my breath. I try to call her back three times, but she doesn't pick up.

"No personal calls on the clock." my boss says, bright, glowing red eyes staring me down from across the office.

"Yes sir." I say, sitting down.

"She won't stop crying." I tell Trinee on the phone as Millie screams bloody murder in my other ear.

"Have you fed her?" Trinee asks the most obvious question and insults my intelligence.

"Fed, changed, rocked, bounced, burped, sang, layed down, picked up." I stop her before she can suggest anything else I tried.

"Ok well just keep trying." She says. I hear her pull something off of the store shelf and toss it in her cart.

"And now the dog is peeing on the carpet." I say, teeth clenched. Her grandmother's crusty white dog that we inherited pees on the same spot it always does.

"I'll get some cleaning spray." She tells me.

"How about a catapult." I ask.

"That's not funny." She lies.

I pat Millie on the back, she finally burps. then she throws up every last ounce of milk I fed her onto the back of my shirt.

"We've agreed to 50/50 custody." Trinee tells the judge.

"What?" I ask. "I didn't agree to anything!"

The judge, jury, executioner, and my wife all turn their attention to me.

"Mr. Ulush, now is not the time. The paperwork has already been signed and filed." the judge tells me, looking at me over his glasses.

"We're not getting divorced!" I tell them. they all just keep staring at me like I have two heads.

"Child support is set at 6000 a month." the judge moves on without me.

"That's my entire paycheck!" I plead with him

"It's actually more." Trinee smiles, her mouth much wider than usual.

The executioner lumbers over to me, his huge battleaxe dripping fresh blood onto the carpet.

"50 50" they say, raising the axe over my head, ready to split me vertically.