Despite trying their best not to, the nightfillers heard the P.A. and reluctantly trudged out the aisles and off the store floor.
On the way, Joe spied Ridley standing a little too close to a handbag currently held by Ursula. His toned arm leant against the wall, exposing biceps and triceps; his foot rested on a safety step, raising his leg and suggesting bulging quadriceps; his svelte torso twisted in such a way that it probably contained quintraceps, a few hexraceps, and maybe even one or two septraceps; while his olive-coloured boyishly attractive face was positioned far too close to Ursula's. All very sleazy and stereotypical.
'You too, Ridley,' shouted the Duty Manager, with an acute lisp.
A huddle. This was her time to shine, to truly show herself to be the one in charge. There aren't many parts of a job like hers to look forward to, and she relished it more than tomato relish (which she was quite fond of).
Meanwhile, Joe watched the more attractive version of himself reluctantly leave Ursula's presence, taking careful note of the way she smiled broadly as they parted.
The meeting (sorry, “huddle”) was quite boring so I'll race through it: time was wasted; team members were berated; team members objected to the term lunch room when it was dinner time; team members objected to the lack of hours to get the job done; team members objected to being referred to as team members.
Oh, there was this interesting tidbit: one of the team mem...err members of the team asked about the effectiveness of the air-conditioning system. It hit Joe like a knife through hot butter. That is, softly and with not much evidence of its impact. But something nagged at him enough that he considered maybe at some point in the future possibly giving it a second thought. Perhaps.
Hi ho, hi ho, back to work they...trotted. Trotted like little beavers. Flew like flying flies. Galloped like praying mantises.
Imagine we were the wind, floating effortlessly along the back end of the store floor. Then imagine we rise toward the badly painted off-white ceiling. The view from up high would be quite a sight, with uniform rows of fluorescent lights matching uniform rows of aisles, broken up by the brown shirts of fillers, and by the copious colours of products and brands, of displays and tickets.
Now imagine we switch to heat vision, something most winds don't possess. But we're a special kind of wind, we-. OK, so the analogy doesn't work. Now we're army intelligence (blah blah oxymoron, etc., etc.) and have staked a lookout up in the rafters. With heat vision goggles on, we survey our target: a few spots of orange from the beavering, galloping fillers; some blue areas near the dairy and front-end fridges; some slight yellowing on the floor from the wheels of a heavy cage as it's pushed along; and a OH MY GOODNESS A GIANT RED CIRCLE IN THE HEALTH AND BEAUTY AISLE! After we (the army intelligence personnel) have recovered sufficiently from the shock, we'd notice how the red light wavers like a pulse and seems to grow in size.
Joe sweated while he worked. This made him think he was working harder than usual. It also made him think he might lose some weight if he kept it going.
He picked up another carton of rubbery contraception devices. The earlier conversation came back to him, which made him think of Ursula. Ridley and Ursula, more specifically. That guy was smoother than a trotting beaver, better looking than a flying fly, and most confusing of all, faster than a galloping praying mantis*. Didn't he have any morals?
*This sentence didn't quite turn out how I'd hoped.
It didn't matter. It was better to be alone, anyway. No one relies on you when you're alone. He thought back to how his parents had made him responsible for all his pets when growing up. It was meant to be a learning experience. At four, he had a guinea pig named Woo. At five, a cat named Ra*. At six, a dog named Dog. At seven, a Parrot named Whosaprettyboythen. At eight, a gold fish called Wanda (no relation to the famous movie star). At nine, another dog named Dog. After that, his parents felt there'd be no more room in the back yard to bury any newcomers, and decided to end the barbarity.
*See, that's the problem with intellectual parents.
Joe scratched an itch on his neck and subconsciously walked to the shelf to fill a carton. He was trying to remember if it was the first Dog or second Dog who had a stumpy tail when WHAMO! he was flung back hard against the other side of the aisle.
'Two-or-more-people-being-intimate infernal-region,' he blurted, or something similar, and rubbed the back of his head.
Ridley's fresh face poked its way around the corner and laughed at the sunken Joe. This did not enliven the spirits of our fallen hero. The Tank came driving up beside Ridley and added a chuckle.
The noob may or may not have done the same, who cares? More importantly, his watch was still wedged in the fixture, its minute hand struggling to move until slowly, very slowly, as if moving through treacle, pushing past the third dimension and landing right on the XIII.
Then...
A
all pulse
indirections.of
outenergy
shot
It was quite a magnificent sight. One of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that only a tiny portion of the human race will ever experience. It's a pity you couldn't see it. Don't worry, I'll draw you a picture of what Joe saw, just as the pulses shot out:
 |
| Figure 2-1: Pulse |
It's missing a bit of detail, sure, but it was pretty bright.
The pulse didn't directly affect any of the fillers. Nor did it affect the stock on the shelves. But it seemed to have knocked out little pockets of time, and tore strips off other parts.
Joe looked around him. Ridley was holding his eyes, recovering from the bright light, while the noob was standing motionless, his eyes faced in the direction of the large spinning hole that used to be his watch.
Joe edged closer to The Tank. He followed the stiff, unmoving body down until he got to the can of cat food floating just below The Tank's outstretched hand.
'Errm,' he said.
Ridley joined in, saying: 'Hm.'
'Ahhhh...' continued Joe.
'Huh,' said Ridley.
This was all very scintillating conversation. I'll spare you the next three monosyllabic minutes.
'So, uh, what the deep-pits-of-Hades is going on?' asked Joe.
'Don't know,' said Ridley.
The pockets of time hadn't rushed over all of them. The rest of the store was moving very slowly; relativistically speaking, of course.
But I didn't really have to point that out, right? You're a smart bunch.
The strips of time had also peeled along other parts of the store, leaving them without any time at all (for the time being – ba-boom!) (Relativistically, blah blah.) One of these strips tore along the gait of The Tank. His outstretched elbow jittered frantically, like a flag flapping wildly in a storm, or like a non-interlaced image in a video.
Joe looked closer. 'Errm...' he said.
'Hm,' said Ridley.
'Ahhhh...' continued Joe.
'Huh,' said Ridley.
They eventually turned their eloquent conversational skills to the black hole. It had become smaller, perhaps the height of two The Tank's. If you looked closely, and Joe and Ridley did just that, you could barely make out a swirling darkness inside the blackness.
'It's got to be a nexus to another time,' said Ridley.
'Why does it have to be a nexus to another time?' said Joe. 'Why can't it be...oh, I dunno...a gateway to another galaxy? Or one half of some transformation device, like in The Fly, where you merge with whoever...whatever...is in the other compartment?'
'No, no, no, you're wrong,' said Ridley. 'Clearly wrong. Otherwise the watch reference wouldn't work. Yes! This here, gentlemen, is a time machine.'
'Gentlemen?' said Joe.
'Good point. Ladies.'
'So what do we do?' said Joe.
'When in Rome...' suggested Ridley, looking at the black hole.
'You mean, just go in?'
'Sure, why not? There could be anything on the other side!'
'That's what I'm afraid of,' said Joe.
'Come on man, this is our chance. You know when you're at home and you hear about a meteor that could hit the Earth, or when they have a show on TV about a pandemic, or you see some zombie film, or when-'
'I get it. What's your point?'
'Don't you always think how exciting that'd be? How it would change everything! That we'd have to survive and thrive in a whole new world. Sure, all those people dying would suck...for them. But there's something guttural, something where, deep inside, a small part of you hopes it could happen.'
'You want to step into that thing with the hopes it'll destroy the world?' said Joe, knowing it wasn't what he meant at all.
'No Joe,' said Ridley slowly, exasperatedly. 'I'm saying that today is the first day of your new life.'
'Night,' corrected Joe.
'Tonight is the first night of your new life,' said an obliging Ridley, showing a lot more patience than I would in the same situation. 'Let's go in there and pop out in adventure!'
'More likely we'd just die.'
'Oh man! Just stay and mope, then.'
'What do you mean, mope?'
Ridley let out a loud breath. 'Do you want to do this for the rest of your life? Do you want to be a nightfiller when you turn 29, 30, 31? What kind of life is that?'
'Thanks,' said Joe.
The truth seemed to come with a sharp blade of late. Joe thought about his future. Then shuddered. He never thought he'd end up like this: working in a supermarket, surrounded by younger workers who were only here until they finished school, or finished uni, or to get a bit extra cash while they worked toward a career. And what career did he have all planned? What steps were remaining for him to achieve something, for his life to have a sense of fulfilment? Not a lick.
OK, sure, he completed his uni degree...seven years ago. And sure, he was quite proud of doing so, at the time. But how often had he used it? How many times had he tried getting a job based around sociology? What stellar career options were open to an anthropology major? None, none, and not a great deal, respectively.
Joe had spent many nights alone, lying prostrate on his bed, unmoving, listening to his own breathing, staring into the abyss. The abyss would simply yawn back.
A low rumble, continuous and deep, echoed through the aisle, bouncing its way to Joe's ears. He turned but couldn't tell its origin. What he did see was The Tank, still frozen in a time slice.
'What about the big man?' said Joe.
'He'll be fine,' said Ridley. 'I'm sure there's a good chance that things will work out.'
'I mean,' said Joe, 'how are we going to take him with us? How can we get him to move again?'
'Ah. Now I get you.' Ridley smiled. 'We don't.'
'We don't,' said Joe, matter-of-factly.
'I'm glad you agree.'
'We're not leaving him behind,' said Joe.
'You afraid of being one on one with me? Afraid of what you might do when we're all alone?'
During this time the noob was still staring at the hole. Or was stuck in time. Or was doing something not particularly important.
Again the rumble rumbled, louder this time, shaking loose a packet of tampons which fell at Joe's feet. Joe looked pointedly at Ridley, then over at The Tank, whose arm still jittered weirdly.
'If I'm going, I'm going with The Tank,' said Joe.
'Hey-zoos, man. You're a nice guy but make-love me if you're not the biggest dope.'
'Are these insults meant to inspire me to join you?'
'No numb-fruit-seed-composites, they're to make you see the truth.'
Debris from the roof began to rain down, forcing the two leads to cower momentarily.
'And what's the truth?' said Joe, having to raise his voice above the rumble. It had become even louder, almost sounding like the backing track to an important moment in the narrative.
'Look, if you want someone to hold your hand we'll bring the noob.'
The noob may or may not have given Ridley a look. His hair was blowing over his face so it might have been a pre-cursor to a sneeze.
'Why would I want to bring the noob?' shouted Joe.
'Umm,' said the noob, 'I can hear you.'
'Well of course you wouldn't,' shouted Ridley. 'No one would. But what if we go back to the stone age, or some-human-waste, and have to deal with dinosaurs and cannibals? We need someone to act as a decoy. We can fill the boiling pot with the noob while we scoot off along.'
'I am here,' said the noob, raising his own voice. 'I'm right behind you.'
'Yeah, but it's the noob,' said Joe. 'The noob!'
'I know, I hear ya. And I agree. I'd love to have The Tank along. It feels wrong leaving him behind. He'd certainly give more physical presence than you-know-who.'
'I know you mean me,' said the noob.
The rumble had turned into a scream.
'Fight or flight, ey?' said Joe.
'Exactly. Do what feels natural.' Ridley gave a wink.
Joe felt a surge of energy pulse through his body. 'Ah, turn-clockwise it,' he shouted. 'Let's do this.'
'That's a good boy.'
They stood at the precipice of the slowly shrinking black hole. Even the noob had stepped up, feeling an intense and undeniably legitimate fear of being left behind.
Perhaps this is a good time to discuss adult incontinence. Wikipedia describes faecal incontinence as “the loss of regular control of the bowels”, and that “those affected may be beset by feelings of shame and humiliation.” Causes may be constipation, muscle damage, nerve damage, loss of storage capacity (I find that one particularly mirth-some), diarrhoea, pelvic floor dysfunction (I couldn't make that one up! [citation needed]), seizure (why are you laughing? This one's not funny at all), and lateral internal sphincterotomy (hehe).
Wikipedia does not, however, list as a cause, being really, really, out-of-your-mind outer-body-experience fight-or-flight?-flight-please over-the-top insanely scared. I find that interesting.
The three members of the nightfill team stood side by side in front of the black hole. Picture the front cover of a comic book, perhaps something from a slightly darker version of the Justice League, with a wide shot of the holy trinity of Superman, Batman and Wonderwoman all standing before this circle of blackness - just large enough to cover their arms and legs like in that Vitruvian Man drawing by Leonardo da Vinci. But they're not in silhouette, which is what I've got in my head for some reason, instead in a kind of reverse silhouette, with each of their bodies radiating light against the backdrop of something absolutely dark. Part devilish, part angelic. I'd draw you a picture but if there's one thing scarier than a large black hole to who-knows-where, it's lawyers protecting the intellectual property of their most lucrative characters. And that Leonardo fellow was a shrewd protector of his creations.
Ah well, you know what? I'll give it a shot. They can't stop me!
 |
| Figure 2-2: Comic cover |
Ridley held his hand out like a caring parent. The noob looked at the hand, then up to the owner's face. After a few eyebrow raises he decided he must be Roman and slowly began stretching an arm-
Ridley quickly pulled his hand away. 'Oh man, you were so gonna hold it. Weirdo.'
The noob recoiled his arm in a flash, making a springy kind of sound, like bagoinggggg and then woyalwoyalwoyalwoyal.
I'm hoping to rely less on cartoon tropes as the story goes on.
Joe ignored the banter. He was too busy concentrating on his own forthcoming demise and all the people he had let down in his life. Apart from his parents, which went without saying, there were a few past girlfriends who he'd somehow ended up with and who somehow didn't immediately see through his early relationship charms until it was too late and had developed feelings, or something equally irrational. Once you've got 'em with that thick bit of rope, that connection, it becomes very easy for it to slowly slip upward until it fits snugly around their necks. And before you know it they decide to jump, out, away from your depression and fears and circumspection and lack of physical substance in this shapeless form they call life, causing themselves an awful lot of damage in the process. “Your” in this case being Joe. Not me. *cough* I hope that didn't get confusing.
Now, I realise that the rumble has turned into a scream and that the whole supermarket ceiling has been cascading down for some time now, but I hope you let me indulge myself thus. I present hitherto a poem that Joe may have written to one of the aforementioned horribly besotted:
Now is the time.Here is the time.When is the time?In space I feel.In love I feel.In death I feel.A day in the park.A month in the park.A year-
Oh, forget it. I can't put you through more of that, no matter how much you deserve it. I've removed the parts about living for eternity and still not discovering all the besotted's positive attributes, and the parts about her fair neck hair (I know, right!?), along with a whole page about some party they went to. Makes you pine for the succinct cutting words of a struggling emo.
The point is, Joe felt quite strongly that he'd let a whole host of people he knows, completely and utterly, down. So by taking this step, by jumping into the unknown, what would be the ultimate price? What's the worst that could happen? It might lead some of them to say good riddance. It might lead others to realise what he really means to them, which isn't a terrible legacy as far as legacies go.
So all that was left was for Joe, Ridley, and the noob to take a final step into the unknown.
Episode II is dedicated to Quinn Mallory and Professor Maximilian Arturo.
Find episode III here.
© 2013 Ben Safta
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License
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