Thursday, December 9, 2004

Oops, I did it again…

A.K.A. The Story behind The Post.

“… I guess you could call it a Revolution Number Nine?” I typed the last line of that sentence into Pewter, fully expecting something to crash.

And something did – a drum roll, the kind appropriate only for incredibly corny lines. I smirked. Vash’s at it again…I didn’t bother to turn.

“Thank you, Vash. Since when have you played the drums?”


“Who said that was Vash?” Uh-oh. Unfamiliar voice, unfamiliar voice…warning…unfamiliar voice with accent…all systems on red alert…I spun in my chair. If I have learned nothing else in my two years working for the Temporal Consistency Department, I have learned that paranoia pays off…but not this time. I shrieked the instant I saw the owner of the unfamiliar voice.

“Aah! Ringo?!? How'd YOU get here?” Yep. Standing smugly in the center of my living room was Ringo Starr; floppy mustache, orange-flowered shirt, pink and purple striped bell bottoms and all. He smirked.

“Don't ask silly questions, luv.” For once, I was tongue-tied. I am never tongue tied, but now…now I was doing the mental equivalent of stammering. I spun around in my chair to finish my post.

Act normal, act normal…

“Okaaay. As you can tell, things are gonna get weird 'round here again...”

Boy, if THAT ain’t an understatement…

“Looks like you cats and kits are in for a real trip...you dig?

Peace out,

Ozy.”

And, submit.

I clicked the submit button before spinning my chair around again.

“You – you’re really Ringo Starr?” The Beatle in question nodded.

“That’d be me.” I sputtered, torn between Civic Duty and Dazed Fan Girl. Do I beg for an autograph, or try to figure out how he got here so I don’t get fired? For once, Civic Duty won out.

“But you’re human! An – an - three dee doesn’t work in my dimension! How is that possible? Unless…” A small nagging doubt crept into my mind. I didn’t remember the REAL Ringo Starr wearing THAT outfit…

“Where are you from?”

“What d’you mean, where am I from? I’m from England. Don’t you know anything?” Ooh. Mr. Ringo had a smart-mouth. I didn’t really remember that from all the viewings of Yellow Submarine. I hurried to explain.

“No, I mean, where were you before you were here?”

“Pepperland, of course.”

Pepperland! Dazed Fan Girl made a reappearance.

“How’d you get here?” Ringo shrugged.

“Was drivin’ me sub when this hole showed up. Couldn’t turn, so here I am.” My eyes gained the approximate size of saucers.

“The sub’s here?” Ringo nodded. I bolted for the door. “THE SUB’S HERE! THE SUB’S HERE!” I cheered at the top of my lungs, not worried about waking my neighbors. They’re used to it, between me an’ Vash’s late night DDR parties, Reece’s attempts at starting a punk band…Grunge and Deke’s little catastrophe with the Time Machine. And besides. This was THE sub…and it was there, in all its sub-ish glory. Only there was one problem…

“Er…Ringo?”

“Yes, luv?”

“What did that to the sub?” The Yellow Submarine had ceased to be yellow. It was a sickly, off white color; no contrast, no brightness. All the vibrancy had been sucked out. Ringo pointed to the sky.

“That did.” I turned to look in the direction he pointed, and couldn’t help but gasp. Half the sky was taken up by a swirling, whirling vortex of color, every color of the rainbow, and then some. The colors would’ve been beautiful…if it hadn’t been for the center of the vortex. In the center, the colors were being blended into one hideous grey-ish, green-ish blue.

“Is that your ‘hole’?” Ringo shook his head, pointing off towards a smaller version of the vortex.

“Nope. That little one’s me own. That one belongs to…Someone Else.”

“Oh, boy…”

To Be Continued…
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