The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 28

The Previous Night.

Two sausage reach me, and I pass neither to Tyr, he reaches around me to take one that followers. He’s still smiling. They are wrapped in wax paper that is clear with grease, and all come with peppers, onions, and mustard, no substitutions. I tear back the veil on the first and bite the knobby end. The juice squirts down my throat and gets my stomach churning. An ocean of bacteria splashes down on Ground Zero and fans out, delighted to find a limitless array of chemical and poison mixed in with my juices. Entire universes form and flare out with each chomp. It gives you something to live for.

Outside, the smell of sweaty bodies burns off quickly to strange industrial scents that remain of Parlor City’s manufacturing days. Nearly all industrial materials had to stop here on their way to rail stations across New York State. Factories sprung up to meet the demands and possibilities of what those raw materials could become. Shoes, bullets, flight simulators, and even the first microchip were shipped from Parlor City, and no expense or regulation was spared to deliver on time. Little spills were covered up with caution-tape and a smile. Those chemicals remain in the ground, the air, and the bloodstream of every person foolish enough to drink the water that smells of rotten fish. The river still runs brown and cloudy from the days before the water treatment plant, and raw sewage was dumped freely. Dead eyes stare from the malformed feature of every face. I grew up here, but it was never my home.

After Metro City, there was nowhere else for me to go. No one wanted a slightly-used and completely disgraced superhero. I ran back home and stuck my head under a pillow. The city is a black hole that sucks me to my booth in the bar. The fighting is so far off. I’m fat and sedentary, resolute to make my shows and collect my royalties. My days as a revolutionary were something I watched on TV. Foggy, unclear, littered with confabulation.

Mephis Tyr is with me now. Nepotism too.

“Doc, I think it’s time to head home,” Nepotism says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with?”

I look from Nepotism to Tyr.

“Seriously, Dr. Filth,” Tyr says, more star-struck than ever. “That would be fucking amazing, I’d love for an opportunity to pick your brain on what goes on behind the shows!”

Nepotism pleads, “Come on dude, you’ve still got more sausage. You can’t go home yet.”

I sigh and look down the street. “Nep was on most of those adventures, pick his brain. I’m heading home.” I turn over the dripping sausage. “I’ll eat this for breakfast.”

Nepotism shakes his head. “No way dude. It’s Sunday morning. We go for omelettes.”

“You think I can’t eat more?” I ask, mustering a smile. “Don’t worry about me. Have a good time.” I look at Tyr again and chuckle, shaking my head. “Later.”

Go to Part 29