Troy Slushy sat in the driver’s seat of the rough appearing hatchback. The seat’s ruptured fabric beneath his body stretched apart, exposing the interior cushion to the under part of Troy Slushy’s back. He was driving home, relieved to escape the thick aroma of hot sauce, eased from the monotony of Lou Stooles, and liberated from the enslaving career as a conveyor-line specialist. He had constructed more ideas, finding that the eradication of the sun was a strong creative outlet, and he was excited to bring these ideas back to Lacy, whom he imagined was direly waiting for his presence to enter through the doorway, bearing conceived, sun-destroying plans.
His most recently conceived plan was to whittle a piece of fire proof rope long enough to lasso the sun. He would round up the most accomplished cowboy from the south, send him off into space on a rocket pony, where the space cowboy would then hog-tie the star. The end of the rope would then be tied to a high powered, plasma-rocket. That plasma-rocket would pull the sun from the center of the solar system, and yo-yo it around like a hammer throw, tossing it out of the solar system and into the vastness of space and time. The image was enchanting; a world with no light, a world with no time, and emancipation from the confinement of existence. These images were rewarding and satisfying. Troy Slushy’s hubris inflated, as he dreamed of peaceful darkness. His being saturated in an ocean of self-conceit that flooded the inside of his car. It was now parked in the driveway of his mustard colored home, delivered by the same routine that had driven him to work that morning. Lacy Slushy was waiting inside of their home for Troy.
“Lacy!” shouted Troy, as he entered into the home. He piled through the door, overzealous and ambitious, heading towards the den where he would be able to channel his soul through a pencil and onto a pad of paper, inflating his ideas into a hard copy. Troy had charged past Lacy like a hot battery. She was relaxing in a pearl sofa, feet propped up onto an ottoman, with pads of gauze stuffed in between each toe. She was in the process of meticulously applying a soapy coat of blue nail polish to cover the chipping and cracks that had occurred during her active day. Her spirits were lifted that morning when Troy had found the effort to make love to her. She hadn’t been desiring love or pleasure, and was not disgruntled about not having had love made to her in some time. Rather, the existence that she had come to endure weighed her down, suffocating her with all of the materialistic garbage that rotted with her depressed soul. But Troy’s words and ambition that morning had injected her with the hope that she had been seeking, and was drawn to him by a force so strong that it united them into a single entity, which had powered her will towards tolerance.
During her day, she had accomplished a vast amount of errands, reorganized the mounds of clothes that had been accumulating into the corner of the room, transferred the vanity from the left wall of the bedroom to the right wall of the bedroom, situated the bed into the opposite corner, and was able to begin a fresh coat of tea-green paint in the dining room. Her tolerance copulated productivity. Lacy Slushy was truly driven, and had discovered encouragement and excitement to drown out the disheartening life that she had believed she was living.
“Lacy, I had been thinking all day, about how we can blow up the sun, or somehow exterminate it. You’d be surprised at how many options we actually have, varying in methods, systems, patterns, and trajectories. There are actually a lot more ways to eradicate the bastard than anyone would have thought.” Troy Slushy shouted with enthusiasm and excitement, speaking like a mad scientist, hands flailing faggishly in the air from his tea-green den, where he was perched directly in front of his desk. He vigorously began sketching the darkening martyrs of his blueprints that would deliver him and Lacy from evil.
Lacy was sitting in the room of the house that contained the chimney and smoky colored walls. The paint that she had used that day was enough to finish the den and dining room, but not enough to finish the chimney room. She was relaxing, after an accomplished day, pampering her toes to a rewarding color of soapy blue. The discussion that she had with Troy that morning was encouraging, but it was something that had only lived within her for forty minutes after Troy had left for work. She had grown to accept the lives that they lived after masking it all up, and she began to regain comfort in their home.
“Lacy!” hollered Troy Slushy, as he walked into the room that Lacy was occupying. She acknowledged Troy with a pleasant lickspittle so not to discourage him. “Here, check out these blue prints that I sketched together.”
Troy expeditiously displayed the drawings of his plans. He placed them all into the hands of Lacey, hoping that she might provide some clarity into which blueprint would be the best to pursue. He solemnly explained the scheme of each idea to Lacey, what each gadget would crank, what each knob would thrust, and what each apparatus would pull. His ideas were complex and systematic, intricate and detailed. Lacy was caught off guard, not by the aptness of the designs, but the mere intentions. She was in disarray to witness Troy becoming so intimate with the idea of exterminating the sun. She was nervous to condescend his plans, but at the same time, she did know better than to support lunacy. She stared at her blue nail polish, hoping to float away into the deep blue that had covered up the chasms and imperfections in her fingernails, creating a smooth, comfortable, acceptable nail.
“Troy,” Lacy squeezed his name out nervously. She had realized what had happened between her and Troy that morning, and was uneasy with the idea of being unsupportive towards his delusional, yet meaningful ideas. She and him had usurped a degree of intimacy that had been missing from their relationship for years, and now that it had returned, Lacy was fearful of rejecting it.
“I just think that…” Lacy fluttered her thick eye lashes. She couldn’t manage to look at Troy as she regurgitated the statement that was locked in her mouth, perching on the tip of her tongue, ready to flee in the wind. She turned her face towards the wall and continued, “these ideas are a little…”
Lacey paused before concluding the sentence. She knew how many emotions were riding on her answer. She was aware that Troy was in desperate need of her support, otherwise he would be unable to find reason to allow existence to continue. The house turned cold. A breeze leaked through the chimney, and sank to the floor like a hazy fog. A cold mist circled Lacy and Troy, forming into the shape of a piece of coal. For a brief moment Lacy was able to envision the future; sadness, depression, and lethargy were all swarming back into her life, and she found these to be undesirable. Lacy was not going to speak with ration to Troy, nor attempt to empower him with reason and convince him that these ideas belonged in an asylum; Lacy was determined, hoping to remain strong, allowing this blissful ignorance, intimacy, and unity to dictate their lives, rather than the ration and reason that sought to destroy them. But instead, Lacy Slushy opened her mouth. She stood before Troy and his eager eyes. She was unable to hold it back, as the reason flooding her mind was too strong, and the logic analyzing the ideas were too ominous. Lacy Slushy exhaled, concluding to Troy that his ideas are “idiotic.”
Troy’s face dropped. The cold room compressed around his body like a coffin. His chest convulsed with claustrophobia, beating against the coffin door. His saccading vision seeped through a peephole placed directly in front of his right eye that exposed a world of horrors, staring at the cold blue nails painted on Lacy’s finger tips. His soul transcended deeply into their abyss; a murky blue pool of cold melancholy. His mind submerged back into his thoughts. He dreamed of a dark world, a world where there would be no light to allow any transcendence of any souls. He wanted his soul to remain in his body, where no one would be allowed to disturb and interrupt it again.
But Troy Slushy had hope, looking up at his wife, Lacy, and saw that her condition was temporary, and that she was not truly satisfied with the life in Awful, Ohio. The coffin expanded back into the shape of their house, where it remained a coffin, now holding him and Lacy, as Troy prepared himself with embracing the situation. Lacy had covered up the interior walls of their home with paint that would erode
. Her nails were coated in an impermanent mask, with hopes that it would transpose through her skin and down into her core, metamorphosing her soul into what it was that she desired it to be. But these were hopeless attempts, and Troy Slushy could see that. He knew that he was going to have to save the woman that he loved from this shallow, shell-coated life.
“Lacy,” replied Troy calmly. He stared at her eyes. They were large and frightened. Lacy was afraid of every moment of life, and everything that it would entail after she had made that statement, fearing her visions of the future would inhale truth, returning sadness, depression, and lethargy. But Troy remained calm. The situation was delicate. He breathed slowly and levitated Lacy towards his body. His arms elevated, wrapping around her torso, and he pulled her in closely to him, hugging her with gentle force. He stroked her red hair, and rubbed her back. He stared at the walls, and at the rearranged furniture, and cursed the daylight that had deluded Lacy into believing that she had had an accomplished day. He had become her savior.
“Lacy, close your eyes.” Lacy’s eyes closed. Her head knotted inside of his chest. The fabric of his shirt smelled of hot sauce. It was comfortable and relieving. The anxiety of everything had disappeared, and she had regained that moment of intimacy that she had lost that morning. She was comfortable with Troy, as he held her vulnerable body, gently rocking back and forth, swimming in the vastness of nothing that her closed eyes were relaying to her mind.
“Lacy,” Troy calmly spoke again. “You and I can no longer live like this. These are things that we do not have an ounce of compassion or care for.” Troy looked around the room at all of the materialistic belongings that were closing in on them. “We do not wish to possess these things that have been created for the sake of deceiving us into false beatitude. None of these things are anything that we really seek, nor have ever sought. We are exchanging our time and energy for things that encapsulates nothing. We are losing our energy for nothing; we are dying for nothing.” Troy Slushy recited these words with strength, comfort, and the same passion that was used in that morning’s monologue.
Lacy had remembered the feeling that she had had that morning. It was wonderful and gracious. She never wanted to lose it again, and had been reminded of the magnitude that Troy’s envisions had delivered her to. Her cheeks bloomed with red bashfulness, as she had been fooled again by her surroundings, finding comfort in their pretentious beings. She sought penance from this foolishness and was ready to fully commit to Troy’s arduous objective.
“Troy, you are right.” Lacy’s large, blueberry flavored irises stared deeply into Troy. They were sympathetic for the suggestions of lunacy, but still pulsating with ration, wondering how exactly Troy was thinking that he’d be able to extinguish the sun. “Troy, these possessions and materials that we own and work to sustain are nothing that we ultimately desire, and we do need to find something else other than what we are doing now.” Lacy brought her hand up to Troy’s face, caressing his cheek, and outlining his mouth with the tip of her thumb. She stared at Troy, loving and supporting everything and anything that it was that Troy wanted to accomplish. And because of this support, she was destined to challenge his ambition for the sake of the objective with the following phrase: “Troy, I’m not exactly sure that smothering the sun is entirely feasible.”
Again, Troy’s face dropped. He was pleased that Lacy was now cooperating with the ultimate goal, but distraught that his day’s worth of work was not good enough to accomplish these goals. He was on the horizon of pouting.
“I mean, do you realize that the north poles would melt before they would come close enough to grip the sun? One million earths can fit inside of the sun, Troy. This planet doesn’t hold anything that can compete in size with the sun. The earth doesn’t even contain enough material to build a rocket that can blow up the sun, or build an ice cream scoop that could remove the sun, or whittle a rope long enough to hog-tie the sun, or any of these other blueprints that you think will actually work!” Lacy secretly thought that the umbrella rocket was unique, but didn’t want to encourage Troy in this direction.
“Troy, there has to be something else that we can do to make the change that we are looking for.” Instead, Lacy was hoping that Troy would want to run off to an exotic island, living like minimalists, eating coconuts and drinking rain water that would collect in the center of palm leaves. But instead, Troy’s face scrunched up, ringing out every last drop of tear that his face was soaked in. The room enclosed again into a body bag, suffocating him. He took a few stuttering steps backwards, as his knees buckled underneath him, and he fell back into a chair that was positioned in the corner of the room directly behind him. His hopes were collapsing, as a result of Lacy’s ration.
The cushion was soft and comfortable, velvet and maroon, absorbing the collapse of his dreams. His body was enjoying the relaxation, especially after working and thinking all day. He was losing strength, and ready to submit to the surrounding possessions that filled his life. The chair was pleasant, as it whispered creamy hymns into his ear, seducing him further into its thickness. He sunk deeper and deeper into the velvet, maroon cushion. He looked up at Lacy, watching her red hair drip over her shoulders. She looked beautiful. He was ready to accept their situation just as Lacy had earlier during the day, while Troy was at work.
“Lacy, I think you may be right,” whimpered Troy from the chair. Lacy remained standing in front of him. Troy’s words were hard to understand through the sobbing mumbles, but Lacy understood every tear that dripped out of his face. Giving up all of the meaningless dribble that they had accumulated during their lives was going to be hard, and even harder was going to be abandoning Awful, Ohio, and her substance that she had used to mother their entire understanding of existence.
Troy continued, “this is just too hard. Our routine had become so concrete that it feels almost impossible to break out of. It has become a mold that we rely on, and I don’t know if we are capable of breaking free.” Lacy dropped down to Troy, and rested with him in the chair. They both held one another, scared and intimidated by the smoky colored walls, and the crisp breeze that sung outside of the window. The sounds of birds chirping and children playing could be heard from outside, and Troy and Lacy held one another tighter, fearing everything that was surrounding them.
“This isn’t what I want, Troy, this isn’t what I want.” Lacy pressed her face deep into his seduced body, letting her tears soak into his shirt, clenching it until her knuckles turned white.
“I know Lacy, this isn’t what I want either.” Troy was just as tearful, holding the back of Lacy’s head, holding her close to his being, where they both embraced the malignant comfort of the alluring chair. It was a moment of surrendering. Troy and Lacy were ready to accept their lives, and fall asleep into the chair. They were not content with their decision, but they knew that there was nothing else to do. They would forever be slaves to the mechanical structure that dictated their lives. They would forever be a cog in the system, and never anything that they would hope they would become. They had failed at accomplishing their goal, and they were ready to embrace their unfortunate destiny.
Troy’s eyes opened, ready to engulf all of his surroundings, and finally accept everything with no questions or contest. His hand dropped from the back of Lacy, and fell to the floor. It landed on the top of a pile of papers sitting beside the maroon chair that cradled Troy and Lacy. Lacy had placed them there as reading material for whomever was going to be sitting in the chair, hopefully company of good friends that they could host. Troy ruffled through the top layers like a deck of cards and randomly drew a piece of paper. He raised the piece of paper up to his eyes and allegorically waved it in front of his face like the white-flag of a surrendering enemy. He was prepared to ostracize himself from his goals, and permanently convict himself as “settled.”
Troy Slushy remained in the chair, with his wife, Lacy, still resting and sobbing on top of him. She was a light woman, airy and soft, leaving a small imp
ression on Troy’s body. Troy was attempting to read the material on the paper that he was holding. His eyes were layered in a film of shit that had collected from the compressed tears. He blinked a few times to clear away the film. The cloudy irises became translucent, and Troy regained focus, only to witness the paper coruscating like an arc angel descending from the heavens to deliver a promising message.
His eyes became nacreous. The paper was radiant and brilliant, gleaming with hope strong enough to restore the lost faith that had just vacated the minds and home of the Slushy’s. And through Lacy’s sobbing echoes, drowning in the shirt muffling his chest, the message of the newly presented hope was typed on the paper in the form of an advertisement. Troy’s eyes widened, engulfing every pearly emission of innovation that scintillated from the message, swallowing into his mind, where it was comprehended and then regurgitated through his mouth in the words of “The Behicle.”
“The Behicle” had whispered out of Troy’s lips, through the red strands of hair mopping the top of Lacy’s skull, down her ear canal, and bouncing into her ear drum. “The Behicle, The Behicle.” The words beat like a cerebral conga, increasing in sound and power, until the words slipped out of her delicate mouth like a breeze.
“The Behicle,” she softly exhaled with resurrecting breath, ceasing her sobs.
Troy had finished sobbing, and the tears had dried up.
“Lacy, this is what we’ve been looking for,” expressed Troy.
Lacy stripped her face from Troy’s shirt, lifting her head, and adjusting her vision onto Troy’s face. His eyes were illuminating with clarity, soaking up every reflected light from the page. His brain was kicking into overdrive, accelerating towards their newly discovered salvation. Lacy was pleased that Troy had now been embraced with something that reignited the passion that she had reasonably smothered. She fully intended to comply with anything that Troy was going to attempt, fearing that she would once again lose the comfort and excitement that had just been resurrected that morning. She forever realized that a content life with Troy was more valuable than a reasonable one.
“Lacy, this is our answer. This is what is going to prevent our minds from being flooded from the exposed world. We will be able to live in perpetual darkness, and never have to be exposed to the light of day, ever again! You were right Lacy, blowing up the sun is unfeasible. But with this machine, we will be able to acquire what it was that we were attempting to acquire from destroying the sun. With this machine, we will never have to worry about daylight, and the horrors that occur during that time!” Troy’s stoic face rearranged with a bullheaded grin seeping from his lips. Lacy kept looking at his face that kept staring at “The Behicle.”
She was uncertain of what she was supporting, not fully understanding what the term “Behicle” entailed. But still, she forced her eyes to bulge out of her skull with excitement and reluctance, responding, “What is it Troy! Please tell me!”
Lacy turned her head towards the advertisement, to stare along with Troy, to embrace the martyrdom that he was proclaiming to witness. Troy was pleased, with his new ambition generating salvation faster than he was able to comprehend it. He was once again restored with the sage of hope that had been stripped from his presence, but this time embodied in an exodus.