Troy Slushy and Baltazar Garcia approached Awful, Ohio, driving in the blue hatchback. The city bloomed through their vision. It was magnanimous and sublime. Center city was swirling like the foaming eye of a hurricane, tossing the citizens of Awful, Ohio throughout their day, bouncing from store to store, building to building, tethered to the beaming rays of light that exposed them all to the unnecessary material sold from the trashcan owners, saturating the bodies with poison. A woman could be seen spreading cream cheese over a hot bagel that she had just purchased from a trashcan. A young man dressed in a suit and tie ran quickly through the streets, holding a brief case and a newspaper, trying to get to where ever it was that he had to get to.
Every citizen was trapped within the tractor beams of light directed from the sun, maneuvering each citizen from one building to the next, trading their acquired money that they earned with their lives in exchange for trash. Troy watched helplessly from his window, driving the blue hatchback, as he entered deeper into the center city abyss. He peered up to view the tops of the skyscrapers, seeing each building erecting towards the sun. They were trying to touch her warm hand, trying to penetrate what appeared to be a glistening hole secreting soft lubricants, floating desirably above them. Troy remembered the hot sauce warehouse, and how he sympathized for the building, being teased by the sun, as it would spend its entire existence reaching higher towards the sky, erecting as high as it could get, but ultimately never fulfilling its destiny. Troy saw the same deception in center city of Awful, Ohio, with every building, reaching further into the sky. It was a disdainful sight.
It was mid-day. The air was warm and soothing, lightly lubricated, hydrating the insides of every nostril that breathed in the refreshing oxygen. The sun was bright, exposing all of the feet that were attached to busy bodies that were chaotically littering the streets, trying to get from one place to another, desperately rushing to maximize the potential value of every second. Baltazar opened the window to the blue hatchback, and breathed in what he thought would be more fresh air. But the air in center city of Awful, Ohio was fuming with the exhaust from the bodies, as it made Baltazar light headed, like the first puff of a menthol cigarette. He decreased his inhaling.
“Alright, Troy, today is perfect. It is a beautiful day. Everyone in Awful, Ohio will be out, running around. We should have an easy time finding the donors that we need,” reinforced Baltazar, attempting to spot the perfect authentic person to read the scripted lines to. Troy Slushy continued driving through the center of Awful, Ohio. He wasn’t as delighted as being outside as Baltazar was. Troy actually grew comfortable in the log cabin, and would have considered living in there, if it weren’t for his promise to Lacy.
The streets were chaotic, as Troy was attempting to sift through the afternoon traffic, avoiding the pedestrians flooding the streets, and every other flailing vehicle that was trying to cut him off. Troy’s eyes bounced from each obstacle to the next, making sure that none of them ended up beneath the blue hatchback. His equilibrium began shifting violently. He began to feel nauseous. There was too much going on around him. Troy wanted to regress back into the darkness of his thoughts, back into the darkness of the log cabin, away from the toxic city that he was swimming through. His head began to tilt. His vision started shifting colors drastically, as all the images began to change shades. His palms began to coat with sweat. He began to overheat. The sunlight was too strong, cooking his exposed skin. He could feel each ray of light penetrate through the surface of his skin like the invasion of a thousand needles, injecting misguided beliefs of a benevolent sun. It was painful and unbearable. Troy grabbed the door handle, applying pressure, ready to tuck and roll as he planned to jump from the moving car, onto the sidewalk, beneath the securing shade of a bench.
But before he could open the door, Baltazar screamed, “there!” Baltazar was pointing to an open parking spot, lined against a sidewalk that was cluttered with what Baltazar believed to be potential donors. It was an excellent position. Troy removed his hand from the door handle, placing it back on the steering wheel, and began to parallel park into the vacant spot.
Troy Slushy and Baltazar Garcia remained in the car that was now parked along the busy sidewalk. Baltazar was glancing at every person that was walking by, studying their faces, their clothes, and their mannerisms. He was very specific with who he was looking for, analyzing every potential donor to the bare minimum quality. Troy remained in the car, silent, closing his eyes, nursing himself back to health with subtle doses of darkness.
“OK, Troy, there’s the perfect donor.” Baltazar was pointing to a man dressed in a suit and tie, holding onto a greasy bag that most likely contained his lunch. He was walking slowly, skimming through the front page of a newspaper, while haphazardly paying attention to the activity going on around him. Troy looked at the man, then looked back to Baltazar.
“Why him?”
“Because Troy, we have to show a peaceful environment. So what you are going to do is walk up to the man and read these lines.” Baltazar handed the script to Troy, pointing to the lines that Troy was supposed to read to the donor. “And then after you read these lines, the donor will react, and I’ll just record his reactions.”
Troy dissected the situation, analyzing the results, concluding what was actually going on. He was going to approach a random person, and harass them until they reacted. He imagined the donor reacting violently towards Troy’s harassment, swinging clenched fists, or tossing around open kicks to his groin. “I don’t know if this is such a great idea. Maybe you should be doing this,” Troy responded hesitantly, breathing heavily from the buildup of anxiety. But then Troy looked over to Baltazar.
“Nonsense,” rebutted Baltazar, empowered by the aesthetic caliber of the script. “These parts are made for you. This is easy, just read these lines to him, and I will record his reactions. This will be perfect, this is going to be the best way to extract authenticity from reality and inject it back into our script,” reaffirmed Baltazar to Troy, staring at the man from the passenger seat in the hatchback.
Troy was about to think skeptically, but he remembered his purpose, and quickly dissolved his emotions. But he couldn’t help but wonder how exactly Baltazar had managed to get control of him like this, considering that he had intended on Baltazar reciting the lines to the donors, and that he was to record everything that the donors were saying.
“OK Baltazar, let me see this script. Give me a minute to remember these lines,” said Troy.
“OK, Troy. Now remember, your character is generous and content. You are offering him a service. This is going to show how content and generous Awful, Ohio is in the script. And if you forget one of your lines, don’t stop. Just yell ‘line!’ and I will pitch you the words that you forgot,” said Baltazar.
Troy was listening and reading over his lines, muttering them to himself in a quick attempt to remember them.
“OK Troy, ready when you are.”
Troy Slushy and Baltazar Garcia stared out of the windshield of the blue hatchback, staring at the donor. They sat there silently, observing his mannerisms, as he slowly strolled down the street. He was in no hurry to get where he was going, and appeared very calm and peaceful. Baltazar thought he would express excellent authenticity for the image that he was attempting to portray as Awful, Ohio.
“OK, I’m ready,” responded Troy.
Troy Slushy and Baltazar Garcia left the car at the same time. Baltazar approached from an angle, so that he could be close enough to listen to the conversation, and offer the lines to Troy in case he had forgotten them. Troy was much slower in approaching the man. Stage fright was becoming strong, but Troy kept mumbling “westward exodus” as he approached the donor, to continuously remind him of his purpose. Baltazar stowed behind a lamp post. Troy Slushy then approached the donor.
“Good evening, sir!” responded Troy, generously and pleasantly. He had obstructed the path that the donor was on course to take. The man was forced to look up at Troy, making eye contac
t, forcing him to acknowledge his existence. The man stopped. He stared at Troy, unsure of how to respond, until he slowly replied, “no thanks, I’m not interested.”
The donor had assumed that Troy was a salesman. He then sidestepped around Troy, continuing his stroll, reburying his face in the newspaper, still holding his greasy paper bag that probably contained his lunch.
Troy remained standing in the same position, discouraged from the entire idea. His elaborate plan began to crumble, as every page that constructed the script in his mind began to evaporate in seething disappointment. There would be no way for him to make a script meriting award-winning stature. He would not be able to acquire the Behicle, and then he would not be able to forever travel westward, avoiding the sun-induced toxins of the exposed. He had let Lacy down, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to get his job back at the hot sauce factory. Baltazar revealed himself from behind the lamp post, approaching Troy.
“Troy! What the hell are you doing? He was going to be the perfect donor, and you just let him slip away like that?!” Baltazar was speaking quickly and forcefully, rolling his R’s harshly, concerned about the script, and Troy’s commitment.
“Troy, this script will work, but it won’t work if I don’t have your cooperation and, most importantly, commitment! This is a team effort, Troy. We both need to do what we both have to do in order for this to work. This is work, Troy. This is work that the both of us have to do. And this won’t work if only one of us wants this to work.”
Troy was staring at the ground, trying to avoid Baltazar who was gesturing disgruntled mannerisms. Troy’s eyes were beginning to marinade with thin layers of tears. He was embarrassed, but managed to pull his head up and stare into the disappointment of Baltazar Garcia, who was staring sternly back at Troy.
“Troy, where is the motivated individual who freed me from the entrapment of the log cabin, liberating me from the ragged uniform from the hot sauce factory, and correcting my posture with a few words of devoted encouragement?” Baltazar placed his arm around Troy to comfort his actor.
“This is our mission, Troy. This is our purpose. We are here to graze the earth with our aesthetic caliber, and share the beauty that we see that no one else is capable of seeing. Our purpose is to manifest our creative ambitions into a concrete, physical object that can be enjoyed and experienced by all.”
Baltazar’s words had penetrated through the soft skin of Troy Slushy, driving deeply to the very core of his being, embalming his heart with faith. Baltazar was right, and Troy’s body began to tremble with passion and encouragement to get the script completed. He had allowed the terror of the exposed to discourage him, the same terror that had discouraged Lacy when he had returned home from work to discover Lacy ready to accept their lives. And Troy stood before Baltazar, just about ready to do the same.
“Baltazar,” replied Troy, confidently, “thank you. You are right. I was a little discouraged. I wasn’t sure how exactly to approach the donor. But you are right. It was my fault. He was the perfect donor, and I let him slip away. And that will be the last one. I am devoted to completing this script, and devoted to working until the script is completed with the aesthetic caliber that it needs to be endowed with.” Troy Slushy beat his chest, puffed out a quick gasp of air from his lungs, stared back at Baltazar with confidence, and said, “OK, let’s get this script completed. We have work to do.”
Baltazar was pleased to hear this. He and Troy began to look over the pieces of the script that they had to work with, making Troy more comfortable with the character that he was supposed to be reenacting. Baltazar had reduced the amount of lines that Troy was supposed to read, hoping that Troy would be more comfortable. Baltazar had spotted another donor. It was a different man. Walking in the same pace, but dressed more casually. He had black hair that was slicked back off his forehead. But, like the other man, had a newspaper that his face was buried into.
“OK, Troy. Remember what we talked about; anti-action batter,” coached Baltazar, as he scuttled back behind the light post. Troy stood alone, surrounded by the exposed chaos of Awful, Ohio that was attempting to devour him.
“Here goes everything,” mumbled Troy. Troy stepped in front of the donor, blocking his path, forcing the donor to look at Troy, where they made eye contact, forcing the donor to acknowledge Troy’s existence.
“Good afternoon, sir!” shouted Troy, enthusiastically, offering a smile that stretched the entire width of his face. Troy’s face was thrusting closely to the donor’s, so that this donor would not be able to evade Troy’s greeting. The donor remained standing in front of Troy, slow to respond, caught off guard by the unexpected greeting. But the donor was pleasant, flattered with a sincere acknowledgment, despite the exaggerated tone. The donor had decided to play along.
“Hi there,” responded the donor, smiling. The donor patted Troy on the shoulder, sidestepped past Troy, and continued his casual stroll down the sidewalk, parting through the warm sea of sunlight.
The donor had left, leaving Troy standing there alone. Baltazar came running from behind the lamp post to approach Troy, shouting, “That was brilliant!” Baltazar was panting for oxygen, as he became winded from excitement, but he continued, “that was everything that we’ve been anticipating. It was honest, it was authentic, it was pleasant and peaceful. It was beautiful! That was art!” Baltazar hugged Troy eagerly, pleased at the results that they had acquired. Baltazar was hoping to get an authentic response from a donor that would help create the idea that Awful, Ohio is a pleasant, peaceful location to live in, and that donor’s response was everything that Baltazar was hoping to receive.
“Did you really like it, Baltazar?” Troy eagerly asked, excited to hear how he did a great job. “I tried hard to make it authentic. I stopped the donor, and tried to be authentic so that I could get an authentic reaction out of him.”
“Troy, that was a fantastic performance, definitely worthy of an award,” confirmed Baltazar, grinning his face with a full smile. “And because of the excellent results, look at the progress that we’ve already made!” Baltazar handed the script to Troy. Troy ripped it from Baltazar’s hands, and quickly began reading their progress. The script had read:
Character A
“Good Afternoon, Sir!”
Character B
“Hi there.”
Troy’s eyes blitzed from their sockets, blazed with amazement. “Baltazar, that is great! It sounds like a real scenario from real life! It feels so…” Troy slowed his speech, struggling to come up with the word that he was desperately searching for, as he continued, “it feels so, authentic!”
“Troy, this is only the beginning. Once we fill the rest of the script with the authentic reactions from the donors, then we’ll be able to have our award-winning script!”
Troy’s heart flooded with excitement. His mind constructed visions of him and Lacy, aboard the Behicle, rotating with the earth into the infinite west, protected by the veil of darkness that blocked out the dangers of light from the exposed world. This was exactly where he wanted to be, making progress towards the ultimate goal, saving him and Lacy. He was eager and excited, ready to complete the script.
“Troy,” Baltazar said, “this is a great start, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have the rest of the script to finish. So let’s go make some progress and get you prepped for the next scene, you big, movie star.” Troy blushed, flattered by the statement, as he and Baltazar walked through center city of Awful, Ohio, searching for their next donor.
Chapter 13
The Aliens are Coming to Destroy us all!