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Venusian Twilight
(About 3,440 words.)

The shocker was what had become of Miri Proctor. Quiet, brilliant, a computer engineer, she had corresponded with me when I was in graduate school. I had known her since we were freshmen at a small, private college. She had been named after Miriam Proctor, an ancestor who in the colonial wilderness of the 1600’s had aimed a matchlock at an Indian chief and blown his testicles off.

A late child, Miri had been indulged in many of the wrong ways, which had only made her more interesting. She had read widely and had a worldliness about her that had fascinated me from the time I met her.

My father was a domineering engineer, my mother a social butterfly. Though my sister was focused and driven, I seemed the incarnation of aimlessness. In the midst of writing a dissertation, I dropped out of a doctoral program. When my piggy bank was empty, I took a teaching job at a community college near a hospital.

In that strange summer of 1991, Miri and I had begun writing a psychological novel together through the mail. It was clear she had remained interested in me. If the unhappy young wife of a surgeon hadn’t come along about that time and used me as a life ring, my correspondence with Miri might have blossomed into an intriguing romance.

“She’s shallow,” Miri had pointed out. “What can you possibly see in her?” Marla was cute, voluptuous, and sex-hungry. The next thing I knew, several months of my life had vanished into thin air.

At some point, in 1992 or 1993, Miri and I began writing each other again. She related that she had been swept off her feet by a co-worker who had turned out to have a sinister side. She was finally free of him. We resumed our through-the-mail novel.

As before, our lives got tangled up in other things. A strawberry blonde I encountered regularly at the credit union began having lunch with me at Barr’s Cafe. She wanted me to give her tips on improving her writing. After being threatened by her husband, I swore off tutoring but soon found myself in the clutching fingers of a pathologist’s assistant name Rhonda. I wound up saying “I do” to a woman no one in his right mind would have married.

For years I wondered what had become of Miri. The letters I sent her all came back. The few college friends I had remained in contact with said they hadn’t heard from her. It was as though she had simply disappeared. By 2007, divorced and disillusioned, I was determined to find out what had become of her.

What occasioned my sense of urgency was a newspaper article several years old that I stumbled on while looking for information about her online. According to the article, her parents had been killed in an auto accident. Miri had idolized her father. I knew she must have been devastated.

On a rainy autumn afternoon, as I was handling chores in a tedious administrative job, I checked my e-mail, and there was a message from Wynn Stephens, a mutual friend I remembered only vaguely. I had recently written her to see if she knew what had become of Miri. In college, Wynn had been Miri’s roommate. The reply was brief: “Find her on Venusian Twilight.”

It was a site I had never heard of. When I mentioned it to Dora, the secretary in my division, she seemed startled, stunned, as if I had revealed something she wouldn’t have thought of me.

From the things Dora told me, I didn’t dare attempt to access such a site on my desktop computer at the office. A glance at the site’s system requirements told me that my laptop, which had been designed for page layout and photo editing, barely had the necessary speed, memory, and graphics capability.

At forty, I was again single and living in an apartment. Predictably, my marriage to Rhonda been a disaster. It wasn’t long before she had begun having an affair with the veterinarian, who was old enough to be her father. When at last a divorce removed her from my life, even the cat had seemed glad she was gone. As far as I knew, I had no children.

It was easy to set up an account in Venusian Twilight. I did it one evening when I was two drinks into cocktail hour. For my profile, I named myself after the company that had made my sister’s dishes. From the site’s gallery of avatars, I picked one that seemed scholarly and unassuming.

I was unprepared, however, for the realistic appearance of the world I found myself stepping into. Having read several reviews online, I gathered that the site offered a smorgasbord of carnal delights. There were even peripheral devices that could be ordered to make the participant’s experience more exciting.

As I wandered around the Social Plaza, where newcomers were welcomed, I struck up a conversation with a vivacious moderator. She courteously answered my questions, some of which she apparently found amusing.

At my request, she helped me modify my avatar’s clothes and appearance to more closely resemble those I have in real life. She laughed at my awkward comments.

Soon I found myself wearing pleated khakis, a blue Oxford shirt, and Topsiders. I even had my customary index cards and Parker Jotter in my shirt pocket. In amazement, I remarked, “If I didn’t know I was sitting at a desk and looking at a computer screen, I would think this was a real place!”

With a deft hand, she straightened my collar. “It’s a common reaction of people who are here for the first time.”

From among the newcomers milling about, a slender girl with long, black hair, and attractively dressed in something sleeveless, approached languorously.

Noticing her, the moderator seem surprised and at once assumed a respectful demeanor. “Hello, Zel.”

The girl seemed the embodiment of composure. She smiled. “Hello, Tawny.”

The moderator seemed momentarily confused, then looked at me. “Are you here to meet someone?”

As the mysterious girl regarded me, her lips parted in a knowing way, and she said, “He is.”

I had no idea what to make of that. I didn’t know anyone named Zel. There was no way Miri could have known I was there, so I assumed I was being picked up. Not that I minded. The dark-haired girl looked good enough to eat.

“Well, it’s nice to have met you, Spode.” Tawny took a step back, and I thought I detected a note of disappointment in her voice. “I hope you enjoy Venusian Twilight.” She turned to the mysterious girl. “As always, it’s wonderful to see you, Zel.”

I thanked Tawny for all her help. “I have a feeling I’ll soon wish I had asked you more questions!”

Her eyes lingered on me with obvious interest. “I’ve put a calling card in your inventory, should you need further assistance.” She smiled discreetly, then turned and walked away.

Zel stood there, calmly scrutinizing me. “I think she likes you.” She raised an eyebrow.

The clothes she was wearing were white, the shirt cut to fit her slim waist. The pants showed off the curve of her hips, and in the legs the side seams terminated in long slits. Her high-heeled espadrilles had straps that wound up around her calves.

“You look look very much as I remembered you,” she commented.

“I do?”

She nodded. For a few moments she seemed occupied with something. Then she said, “Shall we go?”

The scene changed and I found myself standing with her on long walkway over water. It was a late afternoon. To left and right were luxurious houseboats. Taking it all in, I saw that there were several extensive piers, each developed with elaborate decks at which houseboats were moored. I seemed to be in the midst of a vast marina. She led the way, walking unhurriedly.

The realistic detail of the boats, the pilings, the expanse of shimmering water, astonished me. “What is this place?”

“It’s a community called Moray Grotto,” she said. “I used to have a house, in an ordinary neighborhood, but a guy I got involved with wanted me to get a yacht, and I needed a place to put it.”

There was a hollow thud of our feet on the boards of the dock. From around us came the occasional cries of gulls. Alongside some of the houseboats were moored motor yachts and sailboats of various sizes.

“How did you know I would come here?” I asked.

“Wynn told me.” A breeze moved strands of her hair. Her pale blue eyes looked into mine. “She said you were looking for me.”

Of course, I thought. It was Wynn who had sent me the message.

“She gazed into her crystal ball, I suppose.” Zel laughed. “She was a few days off, though. I’ve been hanging around the Social Plaza, trying to figure out if anyone new was you.”

“You’re Miri?”

“Yes. In this world I’m Gisela Bach. I go by Zel.”

How had she recognized me? I was about to ask, but she seemed to have read my thoughts.

“It helped that you look like yourself and that you named yourself after Chelsea’s dishes.” She laughed.

As we approached the end of the pier, she stepped over onto a platform at which an unassuming houseboat was moored. Walkways perpendicular to the main pier extended out on either side of it.

I followed her through a door into a spacious sitting room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of a rear deck and a yacht. In the middle distance stretched another pier clustered with houseboats. Just outside one of the windows, a squirrel swung theatrically back and forth on a bird feeder.

The room was almost bare of furniture. I assumed her involvement with the guy she had mentioned must not have turned out well.

In a back corner was a bar. Zel brought me a martini with three large Spanish olives in it. A faint smile played across her lips. “As I remember, you like them dirty.”

I tried it. It was perfect! She had used the gin and vermouth I prefer and had added half a capful of juice from the olive jar. But why could I taste it? My perplexity must have been obvious.

“Shall we go up?” She took a taste of what appeared to be a very well built Bloody Mary.

(“Venusian Twilight,” continued.)

She led the way back outside. We climbed a ladder, the kind found on yachts or motor homes, to the roof, and stood under a canopy that was a permanent structure.

“There used to be lawn furniture up here,” she said, “with comfortable cushions.” With a sweeping gesture, she indicated the view.

Moray Grotto was a large development. To the west could be seen a shoreline, beyond which sprawled a shady neighborhood. I walked to the railing and looked out at the water. The sailboat moored behind Zel’s houseboat was a beautifully restored antique, made for cruising. Its circular fenders bore the name Matador.

“I had a stroke,” she said. “That’s what happened to me.” She walked slowly toward me and stood next to me at the rail. “It left me partially paralyzed. My parents had been killed only weeks before.” She looked into my eyes, and what I saw in hers were sadness and resignation.

I was stunned. “When did it happen?”

“The spring of 2003. My parents’ estate had just been settled.” Her fingers resting on the railing, she exhaled a long sigh. “I went into a rehab that seemed to last an eternity. Since then an opulent retirement home has been my prison.”

From a mast at a neighboring houseboat, a nautical flag moved lazily in a mild evening breeze. I could could smell the salt tang of sea air and feel the sun on my skin. “How did you wind up here?”

She smiled nostalgically. “I was one of the engineers who came up with the idea for the site and who wrote the programming.” As if anticipating my next question, she added, “We started in 1999. There were three of us. We all had full-times jobs, but we worked on it every spare minute we had off.”

A movement at a nearby houseboat caught her eye. I turned to look. A blonde in a shirt with awning stripes and a fly-away collar had come out a back door onto a deck that was like a patio. She set a tumbler down on a table in the center of which was a pole with a collapsed umbrella, and pulled out a chair.

“We had batted around the idea of something like it probably since 1997,” Zel related, “when we started meeting for lunch at a burger joint in the Professional Building.”

I tried to remember what had been going on in my life in 1997. It was before I had met Rhonda. “How did you manage to launch it?”

Zel raised her eyebrows. “That’s complicated. It took us until late in 2000 to design a program that worked even in a rudimentary way, and then we had to come up with money for a server. We started really small. The first iteration of VT wasn’t up until the fall of 2001.”

The woman in the striped shirt had sat down in the chair, crossed her legs, and was gazing out at a yacht slowly motoring in from the northeast. I regarded Zel with amazement. “This seems completely real!” In fascination, I reached out and touched Zel’s shirt, her hair.

Zel gave me a mesmerizing smile.

I stammered, “I would never have imagined something like this was even possible.”

“For most people who use the site, it isn’t.” She seemed to be considering her reply. “You’re having the experience people pay a lot of money for, that’s available only through a premium membership.”

Then how was I having it? “I didn’t pay to join.”

Zel took a sip of her drink. “I wanted you to see what it was like. When I was sure who you were, I switched your membership from basic to premium and charged it to my account.”

She hesitated. “There are some things Jeff or Tina or I--the original engineers--can do, that are in violation of the protocols. On the rare occasions we blur those lines, we try to be scrupulously careful about it.” She looked at me a little uncertainly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

All I could think to say was, “No. I don’t mind at all.” I was slack-jawed. “It was very nice of you. But didn’t you say it was expensive?”

“I’m not hurting for money,” she assured me. “My parents left me well off, and financially VT has outperformed anything Tina or Jeff or I could have anticipated in our wildest imaginings.” She laughed as she might have in college days, as if we were back in the Coffee Tavern. “We’re all wealthy.”

The faint smell of my martini reminded me that I had one in my hand. I ate one of the olives. “The site’s certainly not what I was led to expect.”

“It has a reputation for a reason.” Her expression clouded. “I hope you never see that side of it.”

Her eyes swept the open roof deck. “I recently extricated myself from a relationship with a man who was controlling and abusive. Except for the houseboat and the yacht, I’ve gotten rid of everything that reminds me of him.”

I was no stranger to bad relationships. I muttered, “I got sucked into the vortex of that nymphomaniac a surgeon had married.” Thinking back on it, I shook my head. “I didn’t see it coming.”

She nodded. “The same with me and Burt. He could be very charming. He talked me into upgrading his membership, moved in with me.”

I was taken aback. I remembered Miri as remarkably adept at reading people. “How did you escape him?”

“I became afraid of him and revoked his permission to cross the property boundary to the houseboat.” She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “That infuriated him. Late one night, after a thronged session at his dance pavilion, he came out here, stood on the dock, and shouted obscenities at me.”

Her gaze up at me had filled with disquiet. “It wasn’t the first time we’d had a fight, but this time he threatened me, called me a whore. He was raving drunk, his language so foul that it alarmed the neighbors.”

“He was a musician?”

“No. A deejay. Burt Vaughn. He had Scandinavian looks, an almost hypnotic radio voice, and a way with women.” She drew in a long breath. “Weekend nights, they flocked to the dance parties he hosted.”

Her gaze wandered in the direction of the shore and the trees. “When I met him, I lived in a house in that vast neighborhood.”

She pointed. “Out of sight, beyond the lighthouse on the promontory, there’s a lovely cove and some shops. The pavilion had been built by a prominent social club that unfortunately disbanded a few years ago.”

I was savoring the taste of the olive I had just eaten. It had been marinated in vermouth. “How did he acquire it?”

She smirked. “Probably talked several women into parting with money.” From her drink, she removed what looked like a shish-kabob skewer loaded with hors d’oeuvres and slid a cherry tomato off of it. “Open wide.”

I opened my mouth, and she plopped it in. It was heavenly! Next time, I was going to ask for a Bloody Mary.

She had beautiful fingers. My eyes followed them back to her drink. I couldn’t help but feel concern for her. “He sounds like a smooth operator.”

She nodded. “He is.” With a wry expression of satisfaction, she related that soon afterward his membership had come up for renewal. “I neglected to pick up the tab. He scraped up the money somehow to renew at an intermediate tier, but the drop in status closed a lot of doors for him.”

Her eyes searched mine, the breeze moving the dark strands of her hair. “Are you seeing anyone these days?” It seemed a question she had been waiting to ask.

I shook my head. “No. It’s just me and the cat.”

“You seem very much like the Neil Shannon I remember.” She smiled incredulously. “Your relationships haven’t ruined you.”

“They’ve made me cynical,” I replied honestly.

I felt an urge to kiss her, and I guess she must have wanted me to, because the next thing I knew she was in my arms and I was kissing her. Everything about her was electrifying--the taste of her, the scent of her, the sensation of her moving against me.

There was a sound of shouts. The lady in the striped shirt had stood up and was waving at people aboard the yacht motoring in. A woman sitting forward of the mast saw us and waved, and Zel and I waved back.

“That’s Faydelle Garrett,” said Zel. “She probably wonders what man I’m up here with. Her husband J. T. is at the helm. Very nice people.” She looked at me brightly. “You would like them.”

“Who’s the lady next door?” The woman in the awning-striped shirt, I noticed, was staring up at us.

“That’s Luxoria,” Zel replied in a less enthusiastic tone. She smiled in a forced way and waved at her. “I’ve heard she uses that big umbrella to fly around on when the moon is full.”

It was now late afternoon, the shadows long, the piers embued with an orange cast, the water among the houseboats gloomy. Zel was looking into my eyes.

“I feel young,” I confessed, filled with the wonder of it, “as if something magical has happened and I were in my twenties again.” With my arm around her, it seemed to me I was in paradise. Watching as the Garretts turned in at their slip, I remarked, “I feel as if I could stand here forever.”

“So do I,” Zel said quietly. Her fingers flexed against my waist.

In the dramatic light, Zel’s yacht looked like something out of an old movie. It was after midnight when I again found myself back in my apartment. The laptop was hot, its cooling fan running at high speed. The ice in my drink had melted hours ago. The cat, her head cocked, looked up at me from the floor as if I had gone mad.

Title: The Pendulum Swings
Words: 2056
(Part 1)

As the three heroes entered the chamber, their mouths hung agape, jaws unhinged in stunned silence. The room was a grotesque ballet of opulence and menace, a deadly dance of wealth and wicked design. Massive pipes of pure gold adorned the walls, transporting water to towering statues of fine platinum. From their mouths, billowing curtains of vapor cloaked the chamber in an eerie fog, blurring the line between beauty and peril.

Normally, the trio would scoff at such a grandiose display, dismissing it as the peacock strut of a vain villain. But this was different. This was no mere showcase of wealth. This was a deathtrap, and the only path to their enemy lay straight through its gilded heart.

“Come in! Come in! Don’t be shy!” a voice taunted from within the heavy mist. “You’ve got no more to fear inside my room than at the doorway. Unless you think standing inside a copper doorway surrounded by golden pipes is safer than being in the mist. You can probably ditch those rubber gloves and boots. They’re useless here.”

The heroes exchanged uncertain glances. Elizia’s eyes scanned the doorway, noting the concealed wiring woven through what seemed like an ordinary wooden frame. Brushing back her long brown hair, she shot a nervous glance at her companions.

Jacquelyn’s gaze was fixed on the fog. Hovering just off the ground, her wings flapping steadily, she had felt secure, safe from the traps lurking below. Now, her greatest asset was neutralized by the mist’s conductivity.

Only Marcus appeared unfazed. His grim face resolute, he shrugged and marched boldly inside. Marcus’s bull-headed determination was almost as legendary as his strength. He was a powerful warrior, who would charge into the direst situations trusting in his supernatural strength to save him, often forcing his friends to rescue him and clean up his messes. This time was different, however. If he wasn’t careful, there would be no rescue, and nothing left to clean up.

Jacquelyn shook her head but followed, drifting after him. Elizia trailed, not daring to be left behind but far warier than her comrades.

“Elistar,” her voice trembled as she called into the mist, “things don’t have to be this way. We are your friends. Talk to us.”

“Friends don’t invade my sanctuary armed for war,” a voice hissed from ahead. “Friends don’t slay my minions and wreck my machines. You’ve come as enemies, and as enemies, you’ll be treated."

A mild electric shock, like touching a doorknob after shuffling across carpet, jolted the heroes, stopping them in their tracks. The hair on their arms rose as the static in the mist intensified.

“Elistar,” Elizia’s voice cracked with desperation as she moved forward, past her companions. “Please, talk to us. Talk to me. What happened to you?”

Her companions hung back. The shock was a just warning. Elistar could do much worse than that. If they were going to defeat Elistar in this kind of environment, they would need stealth and surprise. Elizia made a silent gesture at Jacquelyn, who immediately understood and drifted off toward the side of the chamber, disappearing into the outskirts of the mist. Meanwhile, Elizia signaled for Marcus to hang back. Stealth wasn’t really his forte.

They needed to provide a non-threatening distraction. Only Elizia could do this. She had always been close to Elistar, far more than friends. Further, he was unlikely to feel threatened by her modest telekinetic abilities.

She advanced forward until Marcus vanished in the mist. Ahead, a pyramid-style pedestal loomed, a golden throne perched atop it. On the throne, sat a robed figure—Elistar.

“You shouldn’t have come, Elizia,” he said. “You should leave while you still can.”

Seeing him gazing at her and hearing his voice for the first time in months filled Elizia with memories. All the places they had traveled together, the dreams they had shared, the challenges they had overcome, the pain they had suffered.

“Elistar,” she asked, “what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”

“What else should I do?” he snapped. “Search for love? Find a woman to tell me I’m a great guy, and that they love spending time with me, but they don’t feel an ‘emotional connection’?”

The words stung Elizia. They were the last words she had said to Elistar before he fled the base, leaving the heroes forever. They had lingered in her ears every day since he had left.

“Elistar,” she began, her voice heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“So, what?” he asked. “We don’t mean for lots of things to happen. I didn’t mean for Cartier to die, either. But he did.”

There was a stinging sense of bitterness and self-reproach in his voice.

“Perhaps you have forgotten that day, but I can’t,” he said. “I see it in my dreams, every waking moment - standing above his broken body, watching his lips try to form last words that no one could hear, and fading into a death I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save him. And it could have been you.”

Blessed with superior speed and intelligence, Cartier had been a member of their team, perhaps even the leader of their team. His death in battle with Dr. Darkness, has left the team in a terrible state emotionally; and Elizia’s choice to break up with Elistar only a few days later, had been a case of bad judgement on her part.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Elizia said. “You did everything you could to save him. We all did. It was a sacrifice he chose to make, to protect us.”

“You are wrong,” he replied. “I am to blame for his death. We all are! He may have died to stop evil, but it was our fault the evil existed in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.

“There’s a balance, Elizia. Whenever evil becomes too powerful, an equally powerful good rises to confront it. Whenever good becomes too powerful, an equally mighty evil will arise to destroy it. Whenever the pendulum swings too far, something will always bring it back the other way.”

“That is why you should be here with us,” Elizia argued. “We need you with us to help fight against the rising evil. We need you to keep us safe.”

Elizia hesitated, struggling with the words and emotions flooding her. She wanted so badly to find the words to make him see how much she missed him. How much she missed their time together, the memories they had made, the intimate moments they had shared.

“You once swore that you would always be there for me, to protect me when I needed you,” she said. “I need you, now. I want you, now. I want you beside me, forever, to keep me safe.”

Elizia saw a flash of conflicting emotions sweep over Elistar’s face. For a moment, his determination seemed to wane. Then, he shook his head.

“I swore I would protect you,” he said. “And I will. That is why I am doing this. That is why I am becoming this. It is the only way.”

“What do you mean,” Elizia asked. “How does this protect me?”

“Because I can stop the pendulum,” he said, rising defiantly, his confidence returning. “I can prevent a more powerful evil from rising, by becoming the ultimate evil, the ultimate villain. In this way, I am protecting you! Don’t you see? If a child is trapped by flames inside a house, they will eventually be consumed and die. But, I have become the flame! By becoming the fire, I can prevent the child from being burned. By becoming the mightiest and greatest evil in the entire land, I can prevent those I care about from being destroyed by that evil.”

“But what about the innocents who’ll be consumed by your fire?” she challenged. “What about them?”

“They’re insignificant!” he replied. “Consider them sacrifices, like Cartier. Get back!”

Jacquelyn had emerged noiselessly from the mist behind him. Only yards away, she had broken from the concealment in mad dash to reach him. A violent burst of electricity, like a bolt of lightning, struck her just feet from his perch. The blast sent her crashing to the floor. She lay there, hair crackling with static. After several moments, she forced herself upright, glaring at him.

“I thought you wanted to protect us,” she hissed.

“I don’t want you to die,” he retorted. “Being crippled isn’t death!”

Jacquelyn glanced waryily at Elizia. Elistar’s control over electricity was formidable. His limits were unknown even to them, despite years of battling evil together. When they were together, Elistar had delighted in showing Elizia the new powers he had uncovered and the new ways he had learned to use those powers. At first, she enjoyed uncovering them with him, but as his powers grew, the seemingly infinite nature of him might frightened her. The discomfort slowly poisoned their relationship, causing a rift he couldn’t see, but she couldn’t escape.

“Elistar, I’m sorry for what happened between us,” Elizia pleaded.
“But this isn’t the solution.”

“Even your own logic is flawed,” Jacquelyn added. “A greater good will rise and overthrow you, only to be destroyed by an even greater evil. You can’t stop the pendulum forever.”

“I don’t need to stop it forever,” he retorted, “just long enough to keep you safe. If I am destroyed by a greater good, so be it. The greater evil will go after that good, and not you.”

“But you won’t keep us safe,” Marcus’s voice called out. He marched forward from the shadows, advancing fearlessly ahead toward the podium, his fists clinched for a fight. “We will never stand by and allow innocents to suffer. We’ll see you dead first.”

Elizia groaned inwardly. Marcus’s stubbornness was once against getting the better of him. Elizia was sure they were making progress in their conversation with Elistar. Marcus was going to ruin everything.

“Marcus, stop!” she screamed. Focusing her telekinetic powers, she sent her energy forward, pulling him back. But his strength was too much for her, and he shrugged off her energy as he charged forward to fight.

“Stay back, Marcus,” Elistar warned. He retreated backward on his podium, looking nervous. “I don’t want to kill you!”

“You better find the want quick,” he barked back. “Because I’m done with talking. Either kill us, or we’ll kill you. Either way, as long as you exist, we will never stop fighting!”

Elistar rose to his full height, his countenance growing dark.

“Oh, yes you will!” he boomed.

Elizia felt the electricity surge through the air.

“Elistar, wait! Please!” she called.

It was too late. The chamber filled with a blast of electricity, sending the heroes sprawling, writhing on the floor. An instant later, their hearts stopped, and everything went black.

The Pendulum Swings (Part 2)

The sound of wailing sirens greeted Elizia. Slowly, she opened her eyes to flashing lights and the glare of a lamp. Paramedics and police swarmed around her.

“Lady Wonder,” a paramedic said firmly. “Stay still.”

“Where am I?” she moaned. “What’s happening?”

Elizia tried getting up, but a strange sensation of numbness gripped her.

“Why can’t I feel my legs?” she asked.

The doctors exchanged uneasy looks. A horrible twisting sensation filled her gut and she fought against the restraining hands of the doctors to look down at her torso. A second later, she flopped back onto the ground, tears filling her eyes. She would never feel her legs again.

The sounds of nearby sobbing struck her ears, and her eyes followed the sound to her left. A wingless Jacquelyn sat sobbing against the ground, as nearby paramedics attempted to console her.

“Where is Marcus,” she asked.

“He was already taken to the hospital,” the paramedic said, her voice tremulous. “His spine is severed beyond repair. He will never walk again. I…I am so sorry.”

Elizia lay her head down. In some way, his fate was his own doing. At least the next time they confronted Elistar, Marcus wouldn’t be able to get in the way. And, there would be a next time.

Elistar had said he would protect them. He said he would stop them from fighting him. No doubt, he thought he had succeeded.

“He hasn’t succeeded,” Elizia swore softly. “Not yet. Not ever.”

M wrote: "(“Venusian Twilight,” continued.)

She led the way back outside. We climbed a ladder, the kind found on yachts or motor homes, to the roof, and stood under a canopy that was a permanent structure.
..."

Thanks for sharing the story with us! It is a fun story. I like the idea of being able to enter the virtual world (almost like a Ready Play One type of scenario). I also liked the little subtle Easter Egg with 'Bruce Vayne'.

Thank you, James! I appreciate your reading it and commenting. I got the idea for it from an old virtual world called Second Life, that a friend of mine had explored years ago and that I did some wandering around in last summer.

I just read “The Pendulum Swings.” It reads fast! A vivid sense of the characters comes across. I found myself wondering what Elistar had been like before hurt, guilt, and power hunger had transformed him. And, of course, how can Elizia possibly hope to stop him after this disastrous encounter?

I just realized why the name Bruce Vayne sounds so familiar. I should be more careful coming up with names! I’ve changed his first name to Burt.

Well...the new contest technically hasn't started yet, so I'll just drop this doohickey right here...


AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Rainbow Ranch, Epilogue
WORD COUNT: 1,489
GENRE: Animal Fantasy
RATING: PG for mild language



If this had been a feast on any other day, Lucy would have wolfed her entire plate down in record time. Every meal after that would have seen that record broken tenfold with even more food on her plate. But ever since the events of the past few days, pork sausages and gravy-smothered turkey weren’t at the forefront of her thoughts. She started those few days as a skinny little weakling who would shake and shiver at the thought of being obliterated by a sorcerer’s fireball. The destruction of her once beloved tennis ball nearly sent her spiraling off the deep end. But ever since finding the latent courage she always knew she had, there was a major decision she had to make. Would she continue to channel that courage into her newfound role as a soldier in the Shut Up, Stupid Dog squadron or would she return to a life of comfort and belly rubs?

The Chiweenie warrior scanned her bulging paranoid-looking eyes across the dining hall and saw that most of her brethren had chosen to return to the comfortable lives they once had. Gone were their humanoid features. In their place were the animal bodies that made them charming and vulnerable in the first place. Cats and dogs sitting at the long dinner table and slurping up chunks of meat with their tongues instead of forks and knives. If they had lips, the sounds of wet smacking would echo throughout the castle. King James Gaines sat at the head of the table with his own plate of mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and ham slices. To his left was Razor Ripley, an ironic choice for a dinner guest considering skeletons literally didn’t have the guts to eat a gigantic meal. Ripley’s magic was responsible for changing the animal guests back to their original forms, so it was only right that he joined this celebration of victory.

Lucy couldn’t find it in her heart to blame these animals for choosing comfort over duty. Ozzie and Callie were well past their prime years and deserved to enjoy a bowl of broth together as the couple they once were. Loki had no business being involved in Harrison’s war at all, so to see him munching down on juicy steak was a long time coming. Every last member of the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs squadron never wanted to be a part of the war either; they were victims of circumstance. Rainbow Ranch was never meant to be a warring nation. It was built to be an animal’s paradise, a second chance for animals who never knew what love was. In Lucy’s mind, that all changed the minute King Harrison decided to bastardize what he and his brother worked so hard to create together. In Lucy’s mind…never again would this be allowed to happen…

“Something troubling you, Lucy?” asked King James. “Your plate has gone untouched throughout this entire event. This is your celebration. What ails you?”

And just like that, Lucy’s mind was made up. She hopped out of her golden chair and scampered over to where James and Ripley were sitting. She cleared her throat in her usual skittish manner, bowed to her masters, and stood up straight with her paws behind her back. “Your majesty, I have something to say. I want to continue fighting for the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs!”

James and Ripley’s eyes widened at the revelation, while the dogs and cats continued to munch on their meals like dogs and cats were always meant to do, no involvement in human affairs whatsoever. Ripley asked, “Are you sure this is what you want? You looked so terrified out on the battlefield, like you couldn’t wait to curl up next to the fireplace once it was all over. Why put yourself through such misery again?”

“it’s not miserable!” said Lucy defensively. “I believe in my homeland! I believe in everything we stand for! If another jumbo jerk like Harrison wants to take it from us, he’ll have to go through me!” She punctuated that sentence by jumping high in the air and raising her clenched paw. “I’ll teach the next generation of puppers everything I know about courage and strength! Together we can beat anything that comes our way! We’ll give them the old one, two, buckle your shoe!” The spinning motion was easier to do without her hammer, therefore she landed perfectly on her metal-booted feet.

“Your enthusiasm is a breath of fresh air, Lucy the Hammer,” complimented King James. “You do realize that training a new generation of animal warriors is a big responsibility, do you not? It takes a lot of patience, much more wisdom, and the heart of a champion. You’re putting an entire squadron’s lives on your shoulders, which means you’ll have so many expectations to not only meet, but exceed. Are you prepared to take on that role?”

“Yes, sir!” The overly-excited Lucy spun around in the air once again and landed like a graceful dancer. “Give me everything you’ve got, your majesty! Let me at ‘em! We’ll be the best squadron ever and nobody will beat us! All hail the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs!” James and Ripley’s shoulders sagged as though Lucy had said something wrong. “Huh?”

“About that name…” said Ripley. “It’s officially retired. It was a rather cruel way of keeping you and your brethren in line. You and your new recruits deserve so much better than to be yelled at by an old codger like me. We need something that represents the spunky spirit of our animal soldiers. Something uplifting. Something worthy of their new leader’s excitement and zest for life. Something like…The Tennis Ball Gang!”

Lucy and James looked at Ripley as though he had worms crawling out of his mouth, which were probably stuck in his brain somewhere to come up with an idea like that. “Hear me out, you two.” Ripley cleared his throat. “Lucy…that tennis ball was more than a toy for you. It represented something deep within your childlike soul. It represented all the positivity you had despite being placed in a terrible situation that was not of your own making. There were many sad times during your journey, but all they did was lock the positive spirit away until it was needed the most. And when that beloved tennis ball was destroyed in combat, you knew your enemy had made a grave mistake. That tennis ball wasn’t just a toy. It represented passion.”

King James patted Ripley’s bony hand. “The sentiment is not lost on me, but outside of our royal circle, no one would know what that meant. Suppose another enemy comes along and threatens our homeland. What if he hears the name Tennis Ball Gang and finds nothing but amusement?”

“Let them laugh, your majesty!” Lucy’s excitement took over once again. “Those buttheads can have all the comedy they want, but we’ll see if they’re still laughing after losing to a scared little Chiweenie! Nobody will live down taking a loss at the hands of The Tennis Ball Gang! We’ll be remembered forever! History teachers will love us! Our enemies will learn to fear us! And nobody will mess with our precious fur babies ever again!” Lucy spun around in the air even higher this time, once again sticking the landing like an athlete.

James and Ripley stared contemplatively at each other for a while before nodding in agreement. James stood up with a goblet of wine in hand, a proud declaration on the horizon. “Very well! If that’s what you desire the most, it shall be done! Lucy the Hammer, you are now the official captain of The Tennis Ball Gang! You and your charges will work with other squadrons to ensure the safety of our precious homeland! When we say never again, we mean never again! Congratulations, Lucy! An honor well-deserved! Cheers!”

As King James took a drink of his wine, Lucy ran circles around his ankles thanking him over and over again like she consumed a handful of pixie sticks. Excitement came naturally for Lucy no matter what the situation, but it all came rushing out at once at the prospect of this new role she had been given. It was indeed an exciting time to be alive. Rainbow Ranch really did give second chances and Lucy took full advantage of those opportunities. Even Razor Ripley couldn’t help but crack a proud grin knowing that his once weakest link was now his strongest ally.

What did the cats and dogs think of all this? Were they every bit as excited about this new era for Rainbow Ranch? Were they looking forward to a bright future where happiness was the norm and love ruled over all? Nah. They were more interested in chomping on their plates of meat and licking their own buttholes, not necessarily in that order. What a bunch of divas. No shocker there.

Vivid writing as usual, Garrison! I read it in what seemed like a flash.

Thanks, M! I was initially worried that I had lost a step since I wrote the fifth chapter four months ago. Comments like yours proved me wrong. :)