Sorry! I’m late! Thanksgiving threw off my whole schedule, and I’m getting this post out about an hour past Saturday.
Please forgive me :(.
For those who do forgive me, and haven’t run off in anger, may I present a type of story I’ve always wanted to do. An admittedly self-indulgent tale of one man, and his many imaginary friends.
I call it:
Thankful
The table was so big it would not be available on the standard commercial market. It also made no physical sense. So, it was a good thing the man at the head of it, at least in this world, was a god.
“Settle down, settle down,” Brandon Scott said, his jacket billowing in the breeze. “We all need to settle a bit down guys.”
“This world is wrong,” The Burn said, adjusting The Innocent on his lap. The Runner looked around, absentmindedly patting her son’s head. The Innocent made a soft coo, and his skin shone with a golden glow. The Hollow Men took steps back, uncomfortable with the rays of light.
“Yeah, I know,” Brandon said, “Sorry about that, I had to pull you through a few layers.”
He glanced up and around at the room with no ceiling, the multiple suns spinning around in a clockwork pattern above their heads.
“I don’t think I’ve used this reality before for anything. Making it perfect for us,” Brandon said.
“Is this the cause of all my research? Are you God? The equation posited that something would replace the old, is that this?” asked The Unnamed Scientist, looking around nervously at the denizens of the massive oak table.
And he had every right to look nervous. Besides the table stretching around in loops and causing one to get a headache from the view, the diners at the table were not all human. One had a mouth too wide and rubbed his hairy hands in a nervous rhythm. Another was gorgeous, floating on wings, and tittering about the lustful looks she was receiving.
Brandon scratched his head in thought. “No…no, no, well, yes. I am to you, I suppose. See…alright…I wasn’t going to go straight into this already, I like a preamble, but—”
Brandon Scott stood up on his chair and looked around the room at his friends. They didn’t know him, but he knew all of them.
“Okay. Announcement time!”
The din of various conversations died away.
“I brought you all here because I’m thankful for you.”
“Thankful? Is that man mad? I love when they go crazy,” said the Brine Witch, tapping her claws against the table. “Though I was not aware there were this many more humans left, interesting….”
Brandon disregarded the comment. “Yes, I am thankful for you. Every single one of you. When I first started, I did not think…my God so many. I made you all.”
“My daddy made me before he died. I live with my grandma now,” said Jimmy, his forehead still dented in with the impact of a piano. “Are you my great grandpa?”
Brandon smiled. “In a way, yeah.”
“Oh okay. Do you want me to play a song for you?”
“Maybe later.”
He snapped his fingers, and the table creaked with the sudden weight of Thanksgiving food. Turkeys and mashed potatoes and bowls and bowls of stuffing. Along with more exotic items for the nonhumans.
“But, first, I think you all deserve a little treat. Something for letting me tell your stories. It was Thanksgiving a few days ago, and I wanted to give thanks to you.”
“Well, that—”
“—Was—”
“—Nice of—”
“—You.”
The two clones looked at each other and glared.
“Didn’t I kill you?” one said.
Before they could get into it, Brandon interrupted. “I may have brought a few of you back to life…but, no worries. I’ll return everything to normal. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on the Heaven…which I suppose I also just created by mentioning it.”
“Hell exists, so why not Heaven?” said a literal demon, who was already biting at a leg of the turkey.
“Exactly!” Brandon said, “But that’s all, you know, tangential to the plot. Just enjoy. Have a happy Thanksgiving. From me to you. And I hope you readers all had one as well.”
“Oh, don’t break the fourth wall. It’s so fucking tacky,” Entropy said.
Brandon stuck out his tongue and then chuckled. “Fine, just eat.”
And so, they did. Gar-Flag-A-Mule the Unspeakable leaned forward and devoured an entire turkey in one bite, and like it was an agreed upon signal, the others went to town, laughing and swearing and enjoying one of the few times where Brandon’s stories didn’t end in violence or death.
Well, okay, Little Billy was still unhappy—since it wasn’t Christmas yet. And a few other characters had valid complaints. But you can’t please everyone.
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Coolerbs Writes 