Rejected Story Ideas

Like all true writers, my mind harbors a vast reservoir of innovative, thought-provoking ideas. However, an unrefined idea is really only the genesis of a completed story, and time does not allow each narrative spark the possibility to bloom into a thrilling bonfire.

With that, I present these selections from my archive of rejected story ideas. The finished tales that would have resulted from these will never come to pass, though they certainly would have electrified readers with the literary tasers of pure emotional resonance. For denying current audiences and future generations that unquestionable pleasure, I must apologize. But I hope that by presenting these ideas here, I will grant my fans a rare glimpse into my process, as well as my special mind.

• An arrogant scientist named Katrina Gerehorne is recruited by the US government to compete against Russia in a time traveling contest, where the goal is to go back in time and collect specific objects - all of which are selected in order to minimize significant changes to the course of human history. One such item is a document detailing the Monmouth surrender at the Battle of Sedgemoor (1665). However, Katrina accidentally steals Isaac Newton's scientific notes for Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica instead, which causes her to return to a world where gravity has never existed.

• In one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young man named Claude leaves his small hometown in search of higher education, cleaner water, and overall better opportunities. His family is just glad to be rid of him.

• A mysterious count named Havel DeLanque buys an old castle in the Kentuckian countryside. Eventually, it becomes obvious that he wants to live there because of its large cellar, where he imagines that he'll one day entomb his enemies, like in Edgar Allan Poe's "The Black Cat". However, Havel never acquires any enemies and he eventually puts a pinball machine down there and uses the extra space for his collection of soapbox racers.

• Goats are extremely psychic and can read human minds. Most of the time they aren't interested in doing anything with the information they learn, but every now and then they use their powers to get free food and make people fall in love. A goat named Gingerbread uses both tactics to enter the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition. The goat loses the contest, but learns a lesson about the human spirit.

• Unsuccessful car salesman Robby Enston has the ability to see into the future, but only for people that refuse to buy cars from him. He tries to convince prospective customers to come back and buy a car after his predictions prove to be 100% accurate, but they never do. Robby becomes embittered and eventually tells everyone that he has lost his powers. Desperate for information, everyone buys a car from him, which cancels out his powers. Robby appeases the new car owners by inventing wildly unlikely predictions, all of which are foretold to happen a couple of weeks past the warranty expiration dates on their new cars.

• Shy guy Willis Dabney decides to get a dog to serve as an icebreaker to meet the women that frequent his local park. However, the adorable beagle he brings home turns out be inhabited by the reincarnated spirit of John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk. This is not a problem for the most part, though Willis does grow tired of explaining who John Howard was and what a duke's responsibilities are.

• It is the year 2055 and Bayou Drinks is Louisiana's hottest honky-tonk. "Swamp" McSurge has returned to collect some money owed to him by the owner, a cyborg named Thelma (who is also his ex-wife). Trouble ensues when the local space sheriff decides to close down Bayou Drinks unless they can raise 10,000 NewMerica credits by midnight. They do, of course, and Thelma sees that Swamp has become a man of his word. The bar's house band plays Madonna's "Open Your Heart" in celebration.

• In another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young woman named Sybil leaves her small hometown in search of ways to go hang gliding without having access to either mountains or hang gliders. Her family eagerly awaits her findings.

• After months of searching, Hank Pritchard is thrilled to get hired as the editor of a brand new website called Vrinkle. Unknown to him, however, is the company's secret purpose: it was created by Hank's friends to make him feel better about himself. When his friends eventually tell him what they've done, Hank asks for a raise. The makeshift website is then bought by Google.

• In a parallel universe where magic is real, but GPS is not, people have many tales about a satellite-assisted method of giving people directions in an assortment of celebrity voices. College student Stacy Crawford is obsessed with the stories and desperately wants to make them into a reality, but her family forces her to major in levitation spells instead. Stacy flunks out anyway and starts a 80's cover band.

• Crass businesswoman Laura Caldeen decides to retire early and see the world. After a trying month spent mainly in airports, Laura returns to Philadelphia and unsuccessfully tries to get her job back. Not one to be defeated, she enters the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition and narrowly beats out a goat named Gingerbread. Laura adopts the rascally goat, they move to Palm Springs, and soon after, Laura falls in love with a local hotdog vendor named Chet.

• A lonely man named Louis becomes infatuated with a painting that hangs in the background of his favorite TV sitcom, Pleasant Times. He travels to Los Angeles and sneaks onto the sitcom's set, only to find that most of the background (including his beloved painting) is computer-generated. Louis has a fit and interrupts filming by shouting his complaints about life in general at the Pleasant Times cast and crew. Annoyed at first, they slowly discover that they all agree with Louis's criticisms and really enjoy his fresh takes on modern topics. However, the executive producer of the show is too busy to witness any of this, and therefore doesn't give Louis his own sitcom. Security escorts Louis away from the studio and filming resumes.

• The Rowdy Maggots, a dangerous motorcycle gang, descends on a small town called Willow Glen, destroying its infrastructure and generally wreaking havoc. Not to be outdone, the citizens of Willow Glen buy motorcycles and start their own biker gang. The formerly quiet townspeople are transformed into brutal savages practically overnight. The Maggots, having learned their lesson, ride out of town. The citizens of Willow Glen then sell their motorcycles and begin cleaning up the wreckage. However, just as the town begins to look like its old self, an approaching gang of metal detector enthusiasts appears over the horizon.

• In yet another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, an older gentleman named Gus leaves his small town in search of promiscuous women. He finds plenty and sends the resulting bar tabs to his family back home.

Blackout in Electric City 3: The Midnight Grid (1990)

Blackout in Electric City 3: The Midnight Grid (AKA, Kiss of the KryptoSphere) is a 1990 cyber thriller directed by Leon Powell, starring David Everett as Kade Dakota, Brenda Sachs as Roxanna, and JoBeth Williams (Poltergeist) as Wendy Pavlord. The film was a wild departure from the Cold War themes of the first two Blackout entries, focusing instead on some of the emerging computer software technologies of the late 1980's/early '90's. A notorious flop, the movie led to the bankruptcy and eventual demise of its distributor, Premium Shift Pictures.

Blackout 3 begins in the virtual reality world of the KryptoSphere, which looks like a cross between Tron and the video game Doom. People in "the KS" appear as themselves, but with futuristic clothes and colorful auras around their bodies.

In a digital arena, handsome tech virtuoso Kade Dakota fends off a group of computer hackers using a 3-D game called Deity Blaze (a hybrid of Chess, Tetris, and Badminton). The three cyber criminals all wear white ski masks and their voices are filtered through a distortion program. They continuously refer to Kade as a "coral reef", alluding to his hindrance of their open web-surfing. Kade gains the upper hand when he dispatches a "zero-gravity spin-cube", the ultimate checkmate move in Deity Blaze. The hackers dissipate into digital mist.

The threat defeated, Kade removes his VR helmet and is back in the real world. His control center is located at futuristic Pavlord Industries, creator of the KryptoSphere. Kade is praised by his supervisor, Hector Stormdale (David Naughton, An American Werewolf in London), and told that the Wendy Pavlord owes a huge debt to Kade for keeping her company's innovations virus-free. Kade reveals his desire to see compu-crime ended by the year 2000. Kade then says he has to leave for a hot date with a woman named Roxanna that he met at a nightclub called Throttle Drive the night before.

Later that night, Kade meets with the beautiful Roxanna at her stylish condominium. Before they leave for their date, she requests that Kade fix her malfunctioning answering machine. Kade makes jokes about her not being tech savvy, but is embarrassed when he too cannot get the machine to work. She teases him before leading him toward her bedroom for gentle lovemaking. As they leave the room, the answering machine's message light switches on and the audiotape rewinds.

Kade is awoken in the early hours by voices coming from somewhere in Roxanna's condo. He tells the girl to hide in the closet and inspects the other rooms. He discovers that the voices are coming from the answering machine, which now is malfunctioning by playing back old messages. Before he can hit stop, however, he overhears a man's voice describe an upcoming crime in the KryptoSphere, expressing hope that no "coral reefs" prevent him from "catching a big wave".

The message ends and a moment later Roxanna appears in the doorway. She asks what the voices were, but Kade tells her it was nothing and they go back to bed. Roxanna blissfully sleeps on Kade's chest as he stares at the ceiling, obviously troubled about what he has overheard.

The next morning, Roxanna climbs into her Ferrari Testarossa and drives off, secretly tailed by Kade in his lime green Mustang. They end up at a storage warehouse downtown, where Roxanna walks in. Kade spots a payphone across the street and uses it to call into work. Hector is upset that Kade isn't at the office, informing him that Wendy Pavlord has asked that Kade present a lecture on compu-crime at a global conference in two days, to held in the KryptoSphere's Golden Palace.

Kade hints that he may have a lead on the recent hacks and hangs up. Using his impressive physical prowess, Kade climbs up some scaffolding to the warehouse's second story and enters through an open window.

Kade sneaks along some rafters until he gets a good view of Roxanna's meeting with a mysterious figure in a white ski mask and black leather trench coat. They put on VR helmets and Kade climbs down to get a closer look at the equipment they are using. Both helmets have Pavlord Industries labels on them, which confuses him. They end their VR session and Kade hides behind some large crates. He overhears them agree to meet again later that same day and they go their separate ways. Kade tries to follow the mysterious stranger, but a secret passageway in one of the warehouse's backrooms thwarts his attempt.

Later at the Pavlord Industries, Kade gears up in his VR equipment. He enters the KryptoSphere and appears surrounded by various types of Krypto-denizens: mostly typical web surfers, but also game peddlers, sexbots, and roving scammers. Kade enters a virtual dive bar and approaches shifty Hawke Gunnar (Harry Dean Stanton in one of his paycheck roles) sitting by himself in a corner booth. They trade a few verbal barbs before Kade threatens to ban Hawke from "the KS" due to a scam involving counterfeit KryptoKash (the virtual world's currency).

Hawke offers information about the team of ski mask-wearing hackers, which he refers to as the Midnight Grid. He tells Kade that they are a super-group of disgraced technophiles from each of the Electric Nations, assembled by none other than Hector Stormdale himself. Kade pushes for more information, but Hawke's connection distorts and his avatar appears extremely digitized. A health meter appears above his head, emptying fast. Distressed, Hawke says that he has just been stabbed through the heart in real life and will be dead soon. Kade backs away as Hawke's avatar explodes into digital carnage.

Kade removes his VR helmet and, through his control center's window, sees Wendy Pavlord talking to Hector. Kade exits his station to investigate. He can tell that Hector is overcome with Wendy's beauty and sophistication. She sees Kade and compliments him on this hard work for her company, saying that her father, Reynolds Pavlord, would have be proud of him. Kade thanks her and she leaves. Hector admonishes Kade for being rude and asks what he was doing in the KryptoSphere. Before Kade can ask Hector about the Midnight Grid, an assistant tells Kade that he has a phone call. It's Roxanna - and she needs Kade's help.

Kade rushes to Roxanna's condo. She is distraught, coming clean to Kade about her involvement with the Midnight Grid and their nefarious plot to bring down the value of KryptoKash. She explains that she thought the KryptoSphere's collapse would help the Electric Nations' economy, but found out that it would only lead to anarchy. Kade asks her about Hector, but Roxanna says she doesn't know who he is. Once he's convinced, Roxanna leads Kade toward her bedroom for another round of gentle lovemaking (set to "Hyperdrive" by C.C. Cobalt).

The next morning, Kade sneaks Roxanna into Pavlord Industries and they enter the KryptoSphere together. She tells him that there is a virtual records cave in Database Mountain where the secret identities of the Midnight Grid's members are held. Kade and Roxanna reach the base of the virtual mountain and begin to scale it in a sequence that has gained notoriety as a viral video.

The sequence is as follows:

Rather than using normal mountain climbing techniques, Kade switches off the surrounding gravity and the two of them bungee-jump up each level. Badly-rendered digital pterodactyls attack them as they near the top of Database Mountain. Roxanna uses a program called "KryptoKopy" in order to create opposing pterodactyls to defeat the initial wave of prehistoric birds. However, Roxanna's bungee cord is inadvertently cut by one of their beaks. Kade catches her and resets the mountain's gravity to normal. They find a winding path that leads up and activate inline skates (see: rollerblades) from within in their avatars' feet.

The clip currently has over 12 million views on YouTube.

Once they reach the top of Database Mountain, Roxanna points out the entrance to the records cave. However, they are stopped by overriding signals, warning alarms, and messages that appear in their VR helmet displays. Kade and Roxanna are wanted by the Electric City Police Patrol for the murder of Hector Stormdale.

They quickly exit the KryptoSphere and avoid several security guards as they escape Pavlord Industries. Driving through downtown Electric City, Kade explains that they won't be able to access the KryptoSphere while they are wanted. Roxanna asks Kade about Hector Stormdale and he tells her a funny story about a time they got into a street race in "the KS" and had to allude a fleet of KryptoKops. Kade then gets an idea and drives to an old arcade called Button Mashers.

Roxanna tells Kade that this is no time to play Dig Dug as he leads her to a classic pinball game in the back. He taps out a pattern on the flippers and the machine sinks into the wall, revealing a secret passage. They enter and are faced with a old-school robot that demands a password. Kade says "Bodlaender" and the robot leads them to a room filled with technology from all eras. Roxanna is confused, but Kade explains that Bodlaender was an important Dutch computer scientist.

Hunched over a tiny microchip in the middle of buzzing electronics, sits computer tech legend Bolty Dobbs (Jon Gries, Real Genius). He yells at Kade about bringing the Spanish Inquisition to his doorstep, but it turns out to be a Monty Python reference. The two old friends greet each other and Kade introduces Bolty to Roxanna. Bolty say that he knows all about what is happening and that he's there to help them both.

Bolty tells Kade that he has something for him and takes him to a side room with a wall of display monitors. Bolty hits play on a VCR and Hector Stormdale appears on every screen. In a pre-recorded video, Hector explains that if Kade is seeing the message, then he (Hector) has been murdered. He reveals that he once worked directly under Reynolds Pavlord and had a brief love affair with Wendy, which angered the old man. Hector was moved from R&D to security detail at the company, but he kept his ear to the ground over the years and witnessed Wendy absorb her father's penchant for greed, especially after Pavlord died. He then discovered her plot to throw the Electric Nations into chaos, all so that the KryptoSphere would be the only safe haven for people looking to escape crime and rampant poverty.

The message ends abruptly with Hector telling Kade to get as far away from Wendy Pavlord and the Midnight Grid as he can. Bolty hits stop on the playback and Roxanna (who has been standing in the doorway for much of Hector's message) asks Kade what he wants to do. Kade asks Bolty if he can gain access for two to the KryptoSphere, along with counterfeit identities for their avatars. Bolty says that he can and will. Kade turns to Roxanna and tells her that they are going to "KryptoKrash Pavlord's party".

Inside the KryptoSphere, two giant blue pterodactyls circle the Golden Palace. Krypto-denizens pour into the large compound, a banner that reads "Electric Nations Global Conference 2000" adorns the entrance. Wendy Pavlord's smiling face is seen on monitors at every corner. The pterodactyls perch atop one of the landings and transform into two members of the Midnight Grid, both holding briefcases. They enter the building through a roof access opening.

The conference takes place inside a large ballroom where digital food and beverages are being served. Inside the KryptoSphere, people are well-dressed and ecstatic. However, in their real-life Electric Nation homes, people are merely wearing VR helmets while in their underwear and surrounded by filth.

Wendy Pavlord takes the stage, greeted by thunderous applause. She welcomes the denizens and speaks about her father's vision for the KS, as well as the need for evolution. Speaking to concerns about security, Wendy reveals that the Midnight Grid has bested Pavlord Industries' team at every level, infiltrating their ranks and murdering Hector Stormdale. She reveals her romance with Hector, saying that she never stopped loving him.

Behind Wendy, the two Midnight Grid figures appear. Wendy is confused and asks security to capture them, but the masked figures are able to disappear and reappear, seemingly at will. Finally, one accuses Wendy of murdering Hector. The crowd gasps. The two figures press buttons on their trenchcoats and reveal themselves to be Kade and Roxanna. The crowd gasps again.

Wendy asks why their presence isn't transmitting alert signals and Kade explains that they've accessed an override command through a friend. He also tells her that he and Roxanna again have reached the summit of Database Mountain and now know the identity of the Midnight Grid. He asks if it could have been her the whole time: Wendy Pavlord herself?

Through a flashback, Wendy is revealed to be the Midnight Grid in the real world, leading Roxanna through a maze of corporate espionage in order to ensnare Kade in a trap. The figure gracefully alludes Kade in the warehouse without letting on that she knows she is being followed. The secret passageway door closes and she removes the white ski mask, smiling. Later, she sheds a single tear as she plunges a knife into Hector Stormdale's heart.

Back in the KryptoSphere's Golden Palace, Kade says that this is only partially the truth. He opens his briefcase and dumps files onto the floor which morph into a 2-D hologram of the Midnight Grid. He announces that Wendy might be able to play secret agent in Electric City, but the true identity of the Midnight Grid is none other than her father, Reynolds Pavlord, his mind uploaded into the KryptoSphere before death. However, in the KryptoSphere, he is represented in triplicate. The three members of the Midnight Grid appear from the crowd and remove their white ski masks (each played by Harry Dean Stanton).

Kade shakes his head, saying that he never expected a dirtbag like Hawke to actually be Reynolds Pavlord, not in a million years. Two of the Pavlords fade into digitized blocks as the remaining one leaps onto the stage. His clothes transform into a tuxedo and he kisses his daughter's cheek. Smiling, Pavlord greets the audience, telling them that this is all a part of the night's amusement.

Reynolds Pavlord removes a transmitter from his pocket and presses a button, locking Kade and Roxanna into place and preventing them from disappearing again. Pavlord takes his daughter's hand and reiterates to the crowd the need for evolution in the KryptoSphere. He then announces that there is a new innovation from Pavlord Industries. He presses another button on the transmitter and the Golden Palace becomes ultra-realistic. He welcomes the audience to the KryptoSphere Version 2.0 and they rapturously applaud.

As the applause dies, one person in the crowd refuses to stop clapping. Pavlord glares to see who this is. Hector Stormdale, also wearing a tuxedo, walks up onto the stage and asks if they validate parking.

Pavlord demands to know how he got there and Hector explains that he uploaded himself into KryptoSphere 2.0 as soon as he found the specs. He then tells Wendy that he doubts she ever loved him. The only love she ever knew was for her father, who controls her even from beyond death. Wendy begins to cry, finally realizing that this is true.

Hector reveals that he too has a transmitter and releases Kade and Roxanna. He presses another button and the Golden Palace begins to shake and the walls crumble. They begin to flee, but Pavlord tackles Kade and they both disintegrate into digital dust. Roxanna screams, but Hector forces her to keep running. The palace falls and the KryptoSphere reverts back to its 1.0 version.

Later they all gather in a digital KryptoSphere field, a digital scrawl in the sky informs everyone that Wendy Pavlord has been arrested by the Electric City Police Patrol and that Reynolds Pavlord's program in the KryptoSphere was somehow deactivated. Roxanna wonders what became of Kade.

A moment later Kade appears over the horizon, triumphant. He explains that Pavlord believed that he could best Kade in any game of his choosing. She asks him what he chose and he removes a zero-gravity spin-cube from his pocket. She smiles at him and they kiss.

Kade asks Hector what he plans to do now that the Pavlords are gone. Amused, Hector says that he will let the KryptoSphere evolve on its own. He won't be its ruler, but perhaps he'll be its protector. His tuxedo transforms into a superhero outfit and he flies off. Kade and Roxanna laugh. They look at each other and kiss again.

The credits roll in a futuristic font created for the film.

Despite an extensive marketing campaign by Premium Shift Pictures, Blackout in Electric City 3 failed to capture the imagination of its intended audience. The film opened eleventh in its opening weekend and went on to gross only 23% of its production budget. While some critics maintained that the movie featured lively performances and a fun soundtrack, many were confused by the plot and jargon-heavy dialogue. Rumors of a behind-the-scenes romance between David Everett and JoBeth Williams were found to be a marketing ploy perpetrated by Premium Shift, resulting in one marriage's dissolution and several lawsuits.

Today, Blackout 3 is seen as an early counterpart to other cyber thrillers such as Hackers and The Net, though its legacy is less pronounced due to lack of future stars. The special effects, while not bad for its time, now look crude compared to the notable blockbusters that soon followed (T2: Judgement Day and Jurassic Park). However, many fans discovered Blackout 3 on various cable channels and the film has maintained a healthy cult status in the decades since its disastrous theatrical run. Upon Blackout 3's DVD release in 2011, former Premium Shift president Howard Kleinhorn asked these fans where they were in 1990, and then told them all that they could go to hell.

Closer to the Canvas

After his fake art exhibition, Wheeler's friends decided to take him to a popular surgical pub called Retractor. He had worked on his poorly-conceived creations all month to impress his friends, and they were eager to show their appreciation. The hostess led the five of them through the crowded bar area to an operating table and laid the drink menus down on a heavyset male dummy. Wheeler reached for a menu, but Reena slapped his hand away.

"Drinks are on us, Piscasco," she said, slurring.

"That's really cool of you." Wheeler rubbed his hand. "But can I decide what I want first?"

"Oh, you're right," Reena said, giggling.

Reena, Paulette, Max, and Clark started in on Wheeler's show as he studied the menu.

"It was the absolutely the worst," Max said, clearly still awestruck from the exhibition. "I've never seen such a miserable mess in full display."

"I agree," Paulette said. "A complete fiasco." She beamed at Wheeler, who looked up from the menu and conjured a devilish grin to show appreciation.

Reena nodded and giggled some more. The free wine from the art show had obviously caught up to her, but Wheeler didn't mind. They were at Retractor to celebrate his lousy art, not for a serious surgery score. And Max would keep her from wandering over to any groups that were.

Clark, standing across from Wheeler, shook his head. "I really can't get over it, Wheeler. Well done, sir. And by that, I mean 'horribly' done."

The waiter, a young woman dressed in OR scrubs, approached.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Ana and this," she said, waving her arms over the large dummy laying on the greenly-lit table, "is Dudley. Dudley is a Wall Street stockbroker suffering from a blocked aortic valve in his left ventricle, so it's looking like a cardiothoracic kind of night! What can I get you to drink?"

The group ordered their beverages, Ana left, and the glowing condemnations for Wheeler's show continued.

"To call your paintings and sculptures 'godawful' doesn't do them justice," Paulette said as she picked up one of the scalpels laid out near their table. "You're the master of dreck, Wheeler."

"Agrees with," Reena mustered, maintaining her balance somehow.

Paulette lowered the blade above the faux patient before catching herself. She lifted her gaze to the Wheeler. "May I?" she asked. "I mean, you are the man of the hour."

Wheeler gave a thumbs-up and Paulette sliced into Dudley's chest.

The dummies weren't filled with blood or viscera for obvious reasons, but Reena pantomimed as though she were getting splashed. The others politely smiled as they clamped the edges of Dudley's synthetic skin, revealing his store-bought sternum.

Their drinks arrived and Clark offered a toast. "To Wheeler's delightfully inelegant style. To his clumsy, clichéd themes. And to all of the mundane works of art - each to be drowned in the wake of the truly despicable ones we gazed upon tonight."

Reena lifted her glass emphatically. "Thass amoré, baby." She took a deep drink, and Max smiled nervously to the others. Confused, she began to look for a place to set down her drink. Patient Dudley took up the main table's surface, backed by a green "Go" light. Max gently removed the scotch & soda from Reena's hand and placed it out of her reach, off to the side on one of the smaller tables.

"Well, I'm glad you hated it, you guys," Wheeler said, smiling. He took a sip of his drink. The cocktail burned going down his throat and he wondered if the bartender was rewarding or punishing him. The others were starting to select surgical tools to try and revive Dudley's plastic bum ticker.

Wheeler lifted his drink again and they all froze. "We should also thank the Fountain Center Trust," he started. "I couldn't have procured the space without their support. It was cool of them to believe in me, even if it was kind of a prank."

Paulette laughed and looked over to Clark. "More like an exploded septic tank," she said.

Wheeler continued as though he hadn't heard her. "And I'd also like to thank some of the people that said some really nice things tonight, in spite of the obvious poor quality of the collection. I mean, I know it was pretty bad, but it still took a lot of time and...yeah. So, that was cool too."

"Totally, man," Max said, a bit concerned. "Totally. But...I mean, you knew that it was going to be the worst thing you'd ever done in your entire life, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Wheeler looked down and saw that he had emptied his drink. He shook his head a bit. "I know."

Before any of them realized what was happening, Reena reached into Dudley's chest and pulled out the heart. The dummy was lifted off of the table for a moment before the plastic tubes masquerading as arteries and aortas snapped away. Dudley fell back onto the table with a thud. Reena brought the heart to her mouth and pretended to eat it, complete with loud munching sounds.

"Myyummmm, yumm, yumm."

The green light beneath the dummy turned red and "You Lose" music blasted over their group. Max tried to wrestle the heart away from Reena, who couldn't stop laughing.

"C'mon, not cool," Clark said. Reena had knocked his drink over when she lifted the dummy off the table. "Jesus, where's the waitress?" Paulette joined Max in a chase around the table as Reena played a delirious game of keep-away with the dummy heart.

Wheeler began to laugh. It was the first time in weeks he'd laughed at someone other than himself, and it brought back pieces of his soul that he didn't know he'd lost. Reena was giving him and his friends something his bad art couldn't, not with all the work he'd put into it and certainly not by fooling himself into thinking it was better than it was. All it had taken Reena was complimentary wine and a surgical dummy to show Wheeler that joy comes from an honest place; painfully genuine, fearlessly true.

Wheeler waved for their waitress to reset poor Dudley for another round. Quietly, the terrible artist hoped it would be he who had the courage to tear the heart out next time.

Marble Wattage

Whether you possess the capacity to tolerate them or not, you have to admire the persistence of idiots. Fully unaware of their idiocy, these lowbrow dimwits are more than happy to dispense venomous tirades on topics they barely comprehend, even made-up topics about nonsensical qualifiers such as "jumping jack density" or "marble wattage". When they are politely hushed or corrected by their unimpressed audience, the modern idiot will redirect his or her indignation toward the naive ideology of their supposed betters, the overweening elite, in order to regain the sympathies of their supporters, along with any loose pocket change available for bus fares.

However, tempers are easily engaged and the resulting arguments are best described as disgraceful, embarrassing, intermittently provocative, and always entertaining. I myself was fortunate enough to be gifted with the idiot's perspectives during a brief stop in Dubuque last weekend. In the spirit of discovery, I would like to take this opportunity to share the experience with you, my adoring readership.

I was traveling to one of those Canadian states, which our neighbors to the north refer to as "provinces, eh", when the airplane I was traveling upon required an emergency landing in Iowa's tenth-largest city. All 200 of the aircraft's passengers were ushered out of the terminal and given twelve hours to freely roam the city, to do with the time what we would. I volunteered that we should all visit some of the local museums which I'd heard nothing about, but the overwhelming majority elected that we should go to the mall instead.

We, the Manitoba-bound passengers, all arrived at Dubuque's Kennedy Mall around noon. As our flight did not serve any type of meal, our wearisome herd instinctively shuffled toward the food court. I tried suggesting to several people closest to me that, rather than all of us eating at the same place, we should each of us instead select whichever restaurant we desired the most. This method, I felt as strongly then as I do now, would have had the added benefit of not overcrowding one establishment. However, Burt Billingsley, middle management for a soda vendor out of Winnipeg, had already appointed himself as the de facto leader of our group and led us all to a Hot Dog on a Stick.

The Hot Dog on a Stick employees were ill-prepared for such a large group and the wait time for a corn dog (or its vegetarian counterpart, the "cheese dog") quickly rose to over an hour. I asked Burt if it would be okay if I got a slice of pizza from Sbarro, but he retorted with a string of insinuations regarding my love of museums and probable hatred of the mall. He asked me if I had designs against the group and even implied that I had played a part in sabotaging our flight. I carefully apologized to him for my disobedience, as well as to a few other passengers within earshot of our decreasingly private conversation. With a slight bow, I returned to the line and resumed my wait, deciding that I would reward my allegiance to the group with a full-flavored lemonade to go with my corn dog.

Two hours later, we had all been fed and were growing bored. A group vote was taken and we decided to venture to the rest of the mall. All 200 of us went from store to store, passing the time and deciding various things about life. Whether it was "The best sports are played outdoors!" in the magazine section at Books-A-Million or "Bring harmonica songs back to the radio!" in the home furnishings section at Sears, we seemed to have an opinion on everything. Self-preservation had set in by that point, so I decided that complete compliance was the best course of action to take. The sensation, dear readers, was fascinatingly enjoyable, like snuggling up in a terry cloth bathrobe to watch cat videos on YouTube. I dare say that my time as "just one of the group" was one of the less stressful days of my life.

However, there were a few other patrons of the mall (presumably Iowans) who would inevitably disagree with some of our group's stances. When they would speak up on behalf of the NBA or guitar music, I and the other passengers of Manitoba Flight 897 would all turn to Burt, who would immediately get in the face of the (usually elderly) person arguing against us and ask them why they hated something that people usually don't profess to hating, like the feel of terry cloth bathrobes or cat videos on YouTube. At that, me and the others would chime in with supportive words for Burt, "Yeah!" and "That's right!" and (once, accidentally) "Good got that right job!"

After about ten hours of this behavior, which the shopkeepers were surprisingly cool with, we decided that we should go back to the Dubuque airport, giving ourselves a little extra time to get through security. We exited to the parking garage where the shuttles we'd rented stood waiting for us, the drivers each quietly complaining about the lateness of the hour. I rode in the third bus, a few seats behind Burt, who looked tired. During his day as commander of our peculiar group, Burt never carried a special staff or wore a goat skull helmet to show that he was the leader; he never needed to. However, once it became obvious that we no longer required leadership, he did put his shirt back on.

My day as an idiot ended much like it had begun, with me getting in a line, this time at the airport's gift shop. As I got closer to the cashier, I wondered if I wanted some gum and, if so, which kind should I get. Should I say something to the cashier? Would I use my credit card, debit, or pay with cash? What in the hell was my opinion on gum anyway?

The cashier smiled at me as panic ballooned from within.

Best Wishes

The coffee shop was busy, but not crowded. It was a nice day and most people were getting their orders to go. Alan sat on a comfortable easy chair near the window as he sipped his latte and browsed Reddit. He considered getting back in line to order a biscotti from the miserable barista behind the counter when he noticed a heavyset man in a paisley shirt standing over his shoulder, studying him.

"Ata Kamil? Is that you?" the man asked. Alan craned his head toward the man. It had been two centuries since their last encounter, but Alan recognized him immediately. Ikram seemed to have settled on a style long ago: same thick mess of hair, same long, thin sideburns.

"Ikram. It's good to see you," Alan leaned across the small coffee table and shook Ikram's hand. "I go by 'Alan' now," he added.

Ikram furrowed his brow as he glanced down at Alan's expensive suit and the latest Apple gadget in his hand. "Alan. Very modern." He settled into a chair on the other side of the coffee table. "So, how have you been?"

"Well, it's been a long time. I've served many masters since the one you obliterated in Morocco."

"I was not going to bring that up. It was just business, you know."

"It's fine, all's forgiven. Can I get you a coffee?" Alan started to rise, but Ikram waved for him to sit down.

"No, no. I was going to get a sandwich, but they are out of vegetarian options. I was about to leave when I saw you."

"You've stopped eating meat? Too bad. That pesto turkey wrap is pretty sweet."

"Not too sweet for the turkey in it."

Alan smiled. He casually glanced around the cafe to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping. "And are you in service now?"

"Yes." Ikram shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "My master is a beggar woman...well, former beggar. Now she is a actress. You may have heard of her, um. Brighton Saunders?"

"Oh, yeah? Wow..." Alan shook his head and stated the obvious. "Well, she's terrible."

Ikram burst into laughter. "The worst." He rested his chin on his hand. "It is not much of a twist, her lack of talent, but she worded the command pretty carefully. I would have loved to have turned her into a famous dog or mule or something, but she made sure to specify that she would remain human."

"Oh, the selfish ones. Well, you were always the pretty good with the curve balls."

"Not as good as you," Ikram said. "How many twelve-inch pianists have you granted over the years?"

Alan burst into laughter; Ikram instantly joined in. A youngish couple with fresh coffees glanced down as they passed by them. Irkam wiped away a tear and caught his breath. "This is nice. I barely can get away nowadays, and to run into you. Well, this is something."

"I agree," Alan said, nodding. Ikram returned the nod, then lowered his gaze, quiet. Alan studied him, this all-powerful force locked into the wishes of others. It seemed backwards to him now, those things that were just the way they were the last time they had seen each other.

Ikram took a deep breath and mustered a smile. "And what about you, Alan? Who is your latest master?"

Alan's smile returned. He looked around. The coffee line was comprised of just one person now, who was berating the miserable barista over some screwed-up order. The couple quietly chatted at a table against the wall. Alan, now serious, reached into his inside jacket pocket and dragged out a necklace. On the end, swung a small brass trinket, shaped like a seashell. Ikram's mouth dropped open.

"No!" he said. "That can't be."

"It's true." Alan bowed his head and a roasted red pepper sandwich appeared on the table between he and Ikram. He gestured that it was all his if he wanted it. Ikram stared at the sandwich, his mouth still agape.

"But...how?"

"I found out a good fast ball is almost as good as a curve ball. I was controlled by a confused, young man who didn't know what he wanted out of life. I took advantage of that, suggesting at each step that charm was the thing he lacked. He grew angry, not wanting to waste a wish on something only others would enjoy."

"He fell for the limited wishes thing?" Ikram snapped his fingers. "You know, I try that every time. But they either figure it out or simply keep making wishes out of desperation."

"He would have gotten there too, for sure. But, like I said, he didn't have a game plan. So he saved the first three commands, held onto them for years in fact. Even when things got rough, he wanted to make sure that he got them just right. And all the while I kept suggesting charm was the thing he lacked. But, naturally, he settled for the trio."

"Health, wealth, and lots of sex," Ikram recited by rote. Alan pointed at him and winked.

"But once I granted his fourth wish, he realized I'd been lying to him and that I'd be with him as long as he had this." Alan held up the seashell trinket, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. "And once Kyle reached that new level of anger, I knew I had him. The next time that he got drunk, I again suggested to him that he should wish for charm, something he'd heard from me a thousand times by that point. He glared at me and the shittiest little smile spread across his face. 'Genie,' he said, 'I wish you had charm'.

Ikram sat back, amazed. "And now you do."

Alan smiled as he slid the seashell necklace back into his jacket pocket.

"Brilliant," Ikram said, shaking his head in disbelief. "An absolutely brilliant ploy." He leaned in, his eyes bright. "And this Kyle? What became of him?"

Alan nodded toward the miserable barista behind the counter. Ikram read the name tag on his shirt and began rocking in his seat, trying to control a new wave of laughter as best he could. Eventually, he regained composure. "That is a thing of beauty. And he has no memory of any of it?"

"Just enough to know that his life now sucks in comparison." Alan drank the last of his latte.

"Well, that is just...wow." Ikram grew silent again. "Well, I am happy for you, Ata...Alan. But for those of us not so ingenious, there is still the job." Ikram stood. "I must leave. Miss Saunders is throwing a gala tonight. For this, I am cooking, catering, valeting...you get the idea."

Alan stood and extended his hand. They shook. "Please." He gestured toward the vegetarian sandwich, now in a takeout box.

"No, thank you," Ikram said. "I trust you, but I feel bound to honor my servitude and not accept offerings."

Alan nodded, remembering the sensation of invisible restraints on every limb. Ikram returned a weak smile as he headed out of the cafe.

"It was good to see you again," he said.

Watching him go, Alan crossed over to the coffee line and ordered a biscotti. He could have simply wished himself a biscotti, along with pretty much anything else he might have wanted, but he liked to be served by Kyle. And, though it would certainly test the boundaries of his powers, one day he'd like to be served by all of his former masters. Even the one Ikram took care of in Morocco.

As he waited for the sullen man to bring him the crunchy baked good, Alan thought about the arbitrary line between magic and determination, wishes and objectives. With a thought forming in his mind, he decided that he'd like to check out Brighton Saunders' party and tell her what a terrible actress she is. This might set something interesting in motion for Ikram. Not an offering, but a start. Who knows where it might lead?

Kyle, unaware of the command he once held over the man in the expensive suit, presented his former master with the biscotti. Alan, polite as always to Kyle, asked the miserable barista if he could please get his order to go.

Suitable Distance

Mitch had known that the cabin wouldn't be perfect. The pictures on the rental company's website couldn't hide the fact that it was light on luxury, just a one-room cottage with a sparse kitchenette and tiny bathroom. And the hiker in him was disappointed that it wasn't nestled in or even near Mt. Pleasant, but rather just off I-25, near Ladson, which meant he'd be near the steady noise of interstate traffic, not to mention the hour commute to his seminar appointments in Charleston.

However, the tiny cabin had a rustic charm that he appreciated immediately. It smelled of cherry oak and a bit of dust, a nice alternative to the chemical odor of most hotel chains. Mitch also liked that there was a small patio where he could grill dinner or just sit back after long days at WISEC, otherwise known as the Wayford Institute for Supportive Education Conference.

The week had gone by fast, a whirlwind of workshops and team building exercises, which Mitch's company expected him to relay to his coworkers back home. He had expected a few days of trust falls and silly logic puzzles, but the program also required psychology evals and a surprising amount of yoga. It was more tiring than he'd imagined going in. Mitch was pretty sure his coworkers back home would have no interest in any of the stuff the conference covered, especially the physical fitness criteria. But he daydreamed about some of the more weasel-like members of his department trying to scam their way through a lizard or warrior pose, always good for a chuckle as he himself struggled with his balance.

If the conference was a bit of a bust, that went double for Mitch's idea of a pseudo-vacation. The exhausting days and long trips back to the cabin obliterated his "best laid plan" to enjoy his nights and maybe give the grill some use. Each night around eight, he practically fell out of his old Volvo, greasy paper bag in hand from one of the fast food places near the cabin's interstate exit. Trudging toward his tiny shack, he'd manage a wave to the elderly people who were staying in a nearby cabin, a nice older couple who seemed to be spending their vacation sitting on lawn chairs and getting blasted on margaritas. Mitch couldn't help but feel envious of them.

His last night in Ladson, Mitch forced himself to pick up a nice sirloin steak and some vegetables from a real grocery store in Charleston. Back at the cabin and bolstered by a real meal in his arms, he confidently waved to Mr. and Mrs. Margaritaville, camped out as usual on lawn chairs next to their blue SUV. Mitch decided that if Norman Rockwell were still around, they would have found their way onto Saturday Evening Post's cover more than just once. Picturing the results, he smiled to himself as he walked into his cabin.

Mitch dropped his keys, cellphone, and the last of his conference work pages on the tiny table in front of the couch. Grabbing a few items from the kitchenette, he brought the groceries out to the back patio area, still within view of the drunken couple. They waved to him again. Mitch repeated the gesture and they both lifted their cocktails, delighted by the recognition.

Well, there's the pose for the cover, Mitch thought. They looked to be in their sixties or seventies, but their cabin was just far enough away that it was difficult to tell for sure. He was glad for the distance, as the fogies seemed a little desperate for company. Why else would they spend each evening camped out on those lawn chairs, other than to invite conversation and/or company from surrounding cabin dwellers?

Mitch set the grocery bag on the patio table, along with some plates and silverware he'd brought from the kitchen. He gave the charcoal a sheen of lighter fluid and was about to fire up the grill when a man appeared from around the corner of the cabin.

The man was perhaps in his forties. His face was as dirty as a chimney sweep and there were dark stains, grease perhaps, on the front of his pants. He saw Mitch and froze, except for a jerky arm movement that might have been a wave. A silver chill found its way to the base of Mitch's skull, but he still managed a friendly smile.

"Hey, how's it going?" Mitch asked the stranger.

"Yep, pretty good," the man replied as he looked over the food on the patio table. He nodded, confident in his appraisal of the situation. "You about to cook out?"

Mitch tried to not stare. He readjusted some of the items on the patio table and nodded. "Yep. Just a sirloin. I'd offer you one, but..."

The man waited patiently for Mitch to complete the sentence.

"Well," Mitch said, followed by a weak laugh. "I've only got one."

"Hey, that's cool," the man said as he sat down on the bench of the picnic table, facing Mitch. "I was wondering though if I could trouble you for a quick lift. My car broke down down the road a ways up and I need to pick up a part from a place about four miles from here."

Mitch looked down at the wet charcoal, still nodding, and desperately wished that he would have been inside the cabin and out of sight when the man passed by. Fast food never sounded so good.

The filthy man continued. "Please, man. My wife and kid are still with the car and it wouldn't take you more than twenty minutes."

"Um," Mitch said, now standing by the grill. Time seemed to have slowed somehow, all the more passing moments with no idea of what to say. "You couldn't call a cab or something?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I did, but the guy said it would take them two hours to get somebody out here." The man positioned his leg so that his foot was on the bench and began to chew on his thumbnail as he awaited Mitch's response.

Thoughts swirled in Mitch's head, clamoring for a logical end. He didn't believe that this guy had actually called for a taxi. Two hours wasn't probable, he likely just wanted a free ride. Or maybe he didn't...maybe he wanted Mitch's car, or money. There wasn't a wife or a kid or a broken-down car. And maybe getting robbed would only be the beginning. Mitch wanted to be wrong, but he knew it simply didn't matter because he wasn't going to give this man a ride.

However, making that decision wasn't the problem; the problem was getting this information across to the stranger without pissing him off.

"Look, you got to understand where I'm coming from," Mitch started. "I can't give you a ride. I don't know you." For a second, an unmistakable expression spread across the man's face, and it was bad. But the man quickly caught himself and began to plead his case again. Mitch cut him off. "I'm sure you're a good guy and all, but I can't do it. I could bullshit you and make up an excuse, but I'm just gonna tell you 'no' and say good luck. And I mean it, I hope you find somebody that can help you out. It's just not gonna be me. Sorry."

The man hopped off of the patio table and shuffled his feet a little, perhaps hoping for redemption. Mitch stood his ground.

"Well, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" the man asked. "It's just a piss, I swear."

Mitch thought about it a second, but the question had such a pathetic quality that made him feel bad.

"Sure."

The man walked inside. Mitch listened for the bathroom door to close and then let out a sigh of relief. The final negotiation had taken place and he was back on track. Almost.

The man came back outside a minute later.

"So, you sure I can't get a ride?" the man asked again, unsurprising to Mitch.

"Sorry, man."

"Yeah, okay. Well, thanks and god bless." With that, he walked back the way he had come from around the side of the cabin. Mitch realized after the man was gone that his face felt a little sore. He finally allowed his fake smile to fade and stood motionless, making sure the man had left for good.

After he was convinced that the man wouldn't reappear with more forceful ways of asking for a ride, Mitch opened a beer that he'd stowed in the half-fridge earlier in the week. Between sips, he seasoned his steak and fired up the grill. He couldn't help but replay the conversation in his head, reasoning with himself that he would have given the guy a lift if he (Mitch) wasn't alone at the cabin. He just felt unprotected.

Mitch threw the steak on the grill and began whistling some trash pop song that the WISEC crew had used to motivate their groups all week. As his meal was starting to take shape, something caught Mitch's attention: the stranger had made his way over to the next cabin. He was now talking to the elderly couple, their hands blocking the late evening sun as he no doubt related his sad tale to them.

Mitch walked to the edge of his cabin's patio area and considered going over to ask the man to leave the couple alone. Perhaps he'd even suck it up and give the man a ride himself, though not likely. However, he reasoned that even if the older man wanted to help out the stranger, he'd be much too inebriated to drive. Surely he would use that as an excuse. Mitch was almost convinced that would be the case, but then the old vacationer hopped up, ran into his cabin, and return with a flipflop in each hand. The old man kissed his lady on the top of her head as he slipped on each sandal and no more than ten seconds later he and the stranger were heading off in his blue SUV.

Well, that's that, Mitch thought. The woman stood as she watched her drinking buddy drive off. After the SUV was out of sight, she looked over in Mitch's direction, who couldn't look away for some reason. He wondered if the woman would walk over with the remainder of her margarita to tell him about the dirty stranger. Maybe she had seen him talking to Mitch earlier, he wasn't sure.

Mitch had plenty of thoughts on the matter, but he didn't feel like to trading opinions with anybody. He just wanted to have another beer, eat his dinner, and go to bed. The woman, perhaps sensing Mitch's aversion to company, simply shrugged to the twilight sky and walked into her cabin.

Since he hadn't been paying attention to it, Mitch's steak ended up overcooked. He sat on the patio table and watched the sky turn dark as he ate, washing the tough, dry meat down with another beer and leaving most of his vegetables untouched. He considered hopping into his Volvo and grabbing a burger from one of the nearby fast food places, but all he really wanted to do was watch the old man's blue SUV pull up their cabin. He wanted to be proved wrong about the stranded stranger.

Mitch gave up on finishing his dinner and slowly began to gather up the half-eaten meal. He threw the leftovers into the paper sack and carried the garbage around to a bin at the edge of the road. He looked over and saw that the lights were still on in the elderly couple's cabin. Faintly, he could hear country music playing from that direction, which meant it would have to be playing pretty loud. Mitch sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to go to sleep until the old man had gotten back safely. He grabbed an emergency cigar from his Volvo's glove box and the last beer from the tiny fridge.

About ten minutes later, Mitch had drained the brew and was about halfway through his cigar. It was dark now and there were no lights outside. He sat on the patio table, just as stranger had earlier with one leg up to his chin. He rubbed his tired eyes for the hundredth time and was relieved to see headlights splash across the elderly couple's cabin before the SUV finally rolled back up to its spot next to the lawn chairs. Mitch smiled and realized that he didn't even want to finish his cigar, though it was pretty good. It had been a long week and he was ready for bed. He extinguished the cigar and tossed it into the grill.

Surveying the patio area one last time before heading inside, Mitch realized that the old man hadn't gotten out of his SUV yet. The silver chill returned to his neck. Mitch walked to the edge of his patio, staying close to the side of the cabin and watched the vehicle closely. He could barely see through the dark, but the driver was still sitting there.

Maybe he's deciding whether or not to pick up more tequila. Maybe that's it.

He waited until a figure emerged from the SUV, but the light from inside the cabin only allowed for a silhouette, and it had never seemed so far away as it did then. For the first time all week, Mitch wished he was closer to the old drunks. The driver made his way to the side door and opened it on the one dark room in the entire cabin. Mitch squinted as the door closed.

It's probably the old man, he thought. But it could also very well be the stranger returning to do to the old woman what he's already done to the old man.

No risk taker he, Mitch decided to see if a sheriff could check things out. He started toward his cellphone, which was in the cabin, but then stopped before his hand touched the backdoor. Mitch remembered letting the man go inside to use the bathroom and realized that both his cellphone and his keys could be gone right now. And, if that were true, then he'd have his answer. He'd already know who was next door, along with where he'd be heading next.

Mitch turned back to the old couple's cabin and listened. Someone had either turned off the country music or was searching for another song, but Mitch knew what he was really listening for. As he steadied his breathing, he recalled the expression on the stranger's face when he had first told him that he wouldn't give him a ride. It was rage that Mitch had seen there. Pure rage.

Moiré

Wendell peered through the swirling branches jutting out from the large Podocarpus tree above him and determined that he was, at long last, drunk. He and Alice usually didn't hit the red wine so hard during their Sunday afternoon picnics in Tenroot Park, but they had started drinking early and the overcast weather had warned off the judgmental families that tended to swarm around the park on nicer days. The low, grey clouds spun above the bushy trees' limbs in Wendell's vision as Alice, also lying face up on the large, plaid blanket, softly sang "Lido Shuffle".

After a joining her for a few "whoa oh oh ohs", Wendell sat up and topped off their red plastic cups with the remaining wine from the fourth (and final) bottle. He turned away from Alice, sitting on his side, and admired the distance between the real world and their quiet green spot on the far northwest corner of Tenroot. These afternoons had become something of a ritual when they had relocated back to Tulsa, just after that rocky year in Salt Lake City. The wine was a welcomed late edition, and Wendell was beginning to think that Alice would rather keep these afternoons than ever consider having a baby - not that he was sure they were ever headed in that direction. He envisioned a near future where this Sunday afternoon activity would bleed outwards, spreading its warmth into Saturday nights and Monday mornings.

Through glassy eyes, Wendell glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Alice's side of the blanket was sinking into the ground. He wondered if he was having a rare drunken hallucination, or perhaps it was some odd optical illusion gained from his vantage point. Then the ground beneath Alice completely gave way and pulled her and the entire blanket underground, causing Wendell to spin/roll onto the cold grass. Alice, the blanket, and the picnic basket full of empty wine bottles had all disappeared into a hole in the earth; Wendell had spilled red wine all over himself in the process of losing them.

Wendell stared at the hole, dumbfounded, and finally called for Alice. No response, nothing but a new chill in the air causing gooseflesh to cover his arms. He shivered and, without thinking, was about to crawl into the hole himself when Alice's arm launched out from the void and she dragged herself to the surface. Disheveled and out of breath, she stood up for a moment before plopping back down at the side of the hole. In one of her hands, Wendell saw that she was clutching a fresh bottle of red wine.

"Sorry, lost the blanket and the basket. Couldn't get them back up. Got this, though," she said, giving Wendell a closer look at the bottle. The label wasn't a brand he knew and appeared to be written with an alphabet he had never seen before. He struggled to speak, to make sense of the moment. Alice wiped some sweat from her brow, smearing some dirt across her forehead as she did so. After a moment, Wendell silently pulled the wine key from his pocket, opened the new bottle, and poured.