Young Writers Society

We had not spoken much on the walk here so as to keep an eye out for the regular score of menacing animals and the frightening people that bummed around in the swamp (unfriendly ruffians were not uncommon, of the human kind). Now that we needed to discuss matters, especially after such tragedy, were they all just going to stay clammed up? I couldn’t let that happen, not when Dudley donated his life for the project’s safe keeping, when, although we expected combat of a certain degree, none of us set out seriously thinking we should prepare for fatality. No, this was some unruly turn of events…

Emerging from the tunnel was excruciating, moderately due to the lights, but chiefly because time had run out to shirk responsibility. We dropped down the twin steps into the halo of marvels to link up with the troupe, passing by a hot tub on the left. Straight ahead was a cluster of furniture spread on a modest little rug.

From a brown couch, Dallas the booze hound clapped and jabbered, “Make way for the on-timers. Up-to-date, never late, you can calculate!”

Definitely a little tipsy.

Our party strode into the midst of the hotbed to merge with the Fruitless Four. It wasn’t like we were the Therapeutic Three; none of us seemed to have the answers, or were feeling greatly inspired to work to find them. Without either half, the team was a split egg, a sitting duck.

Or a slain hatchling…

I glared at Dallas. His comment was frustrating in so many ways it felt like I was being strangled. He didn’t even know what had gone down in the bathroom, but I remembered how we almost got into that brawl earlier and kept my trap shut.

“Here they are.” Rocky announced to all, but gestured at Gutterson. Someone keeping secrets? I filed it away.

An aging head sticking out above the back of a blue Life B Better Lay Z recliner greeted us. The chairwas close to Dallas, who had stretched out to hog a whole couch, not that I wanted to sit by him. A slender lamp was wedged between both items to loosely forge an L. Old Gut retired from its residence and removed his glasses, nodding while he rubbed at his face rather gruffly. “When I said ‘Take your time’ I didn’t intend to grant you a loophole.”

To plead my case wouldn’t be practical, which got under my skin, so to be polite all I groused was a bland, “Sorry.” and surveyed the ground in search of a home for my behind. I wanted to be, felt like I could be in some respects, but was not the guy in charge.

Pheonix and I marched past him eager to grab a seat. As I scurried through a tight opening involving an octagonal tabletop and an oblong footrest, I heard Pheonix plop down on the huge, red couch opposite Dallas (The most convenient stop). From an aerial view it might have resembled a game controller. Rocky was saying something to Malibu. Vinny was the only person present I wanted to be around at the moment, and he was a few feet beyond the bulk of the mob, at the edge of a titanic bed, bean bag subjugated by his quads.

In order to reach him there was a bridge to go beneaththat was in a league of its own: the Sky Fingers. So called, for the structure, lined with grey felt, was an elevated platform, mostly one piece like a hand, that broke off at five points, at which slides hooded with milky layers of silk, allowed playful drop offs into cozy zones, resembling five fingers. This snazzy bridge snaked above the oval-shaped belt that stationed all the goodies within its perimeter.

One to my extreme left, corkscrewed off into Recluse Corner onto a couch-bed hybrid full of spongy bumps and twists. Bookshelves and endless bean bags were the lay of the land.

Right on the other side of that same branch, another slithered to dip its tongue into the hot tub, reminding me of cream being dispensed into a giant cup of coffee. Completely across the room from that, one lead to a piano bench. And if one cut their vision from there, over the very bed I was moving toward, there was a forked slide which split into alternate destinations: the rainbow-checkered bed Vinny occupied, or the porky chairs beholding gamer paradise.

I walked in the shadow it cast.

Overhead I was alerted by a hammering of feet. I had to crane my neck to observe Matt scuttling toward me, upside down. He pulled a couple of nifty moves and then dangled from his feet like a bat. A rotund bat.

He was enamoured. “Out. Of. This. World.” was his clarification.

Without the Vibram FiveFinger shoes buckled to his feet, or the matching gloves he sported, the feat would not have been possible, for velcro was applied to the bottom of the black and purple paraphernalia.

Matt’s red-brown hair was barely long enough to sway and there was a slight crimp to it. Suddenly he zoomed off, running a figure eight and sprinkling in some backflips, each flip seeming more of a swing from my vantage point. Real work wore him out but the fun kind didn’t slow him down.

I was far from a laughing mood. But it was nice to temporarily rid the mind of tough subjects.

“Wish I was as high as you man.” I commented.

Taking a spot beside Vinny on the overgrown sack of fluff, which was used to rival the 360 degree experience of watching a screen in an imax theater, saw the meeting get underway.

Rocky had taken up space next to Pheonix. Elbows rested on his legs, and he coached while hunched over, “Alright, what do we have to rely on? Give me something concrete.”

Things started slow. And that’s putting it nicely.

Dallas pointed at his temple with confidence and said, “Our wits.”

Indeed Dallas. Tools of your trade.

“Solid Broski,” Matt summed up my thoughts from his roost.

Malibu repaired, “We’ll all try our best in that department. Let’s be more...precise...and” he succinctly looked up at Matt wriggling in The Pouch, a basket of wolf fur bolted to the rim of the bridge, “not too abrasive.”

Dallas wasn’t bothered by the analysis and still looked as conceited as ever. The makeshift clan thought deeper to compose a blueprint. My well ran dry.

There was a period of stiff calm.

Then Pheonix’s face flooded with inspiration. “There’s the scheduled follow up team!”

Which was instantly met by applause, for we had invested so much hope in that team, should we be forced to withstand a storm of failure.

Rocky cried, “Up top!” and the siblings smacked palms--ferociously.

“Totally slipped my mind!” Matt lauded, hopping around with renewed vigor.

Gutterson sat up more erect. “Split squad?” There was pleasant surprise in his voice as he congratulated us. “From the looks of it I thought you kids put all your eggs in one basket. Glad to hear you can think some.”

As Dallas accepted the tribute, “Why thank you, sir. I am big on brains." Pheonix threw me a contrite glance.

She had only remembered because I had reminded her of the oncoming calvary when she pounced on me. What? You think I care? You used it to help, not like you’re spitting in my eye. I shrugged.

“Hey everyone,” I could almost feel the steam on Vinny’s breath. “Force B isn’t a sure thing.” His hands lividly plucked the bean bag fibers and when he resumed talking, his body shook. “While there was a determined time frame for their most opportune arrival, that means little now.”

Dallas filleted him, “Hey Vinny, do us a favor and don’t shoot the troops before they show up.”

Vinny went motionless, and his green eyes had taken on a spinach color. I checked to see if he was breathing.

“Hey man, that’s not cool.” It was Rocky. “He’s hit on a legitimate drawback.”

“Hold it!” Malibu was quick to intercede. “Rabble-rousing amongst allies does the enemy’s work.”

Rabblerousing? Was he breaking out old-timer jargon or making up words? Whatever it was, it was moving. And it made me think of rubble roasting, bubble toasting, or mallow roasting…

I grinned like a mad devil. “Guys, guys, guys! What else was that one girl bringing? Ack, I can’t remember her name.”

Matt responded sourly, “Nobody told me diddly-squat about who was on unit two.” He made an effort to face me but the Pouch was no good for rotation. He crossed his arms for retribution, “I’ll shoot the moon and say it’s Lonnie.”

The tyrant laughed hysterically, “No way man! Even if she signed the paper to go, I’d burn it and start all over!”

Gutterson made a face as if to say ‘What the hell is this guy?’ and mouthed ‘This is your commanding officer?’

There wasn’t a vote! It was him at the controls or no expedition at all. Dallas was more of a control freak than Pheonix, just hyper-sensitive in a niche all his own, freaking out about different sorts of stuff he felt he needed to steer. I frowned, lolled my tongue around, and pretended to slit my throat with a thumb.

“Emmy?” questioned the Crowleys. I had to switch gears.

“Naw, that doesn’t sound right.” I recalled what little I could summon up about her. “This girl is a tree...with long dark hair…”

“Then you speak of the witch.” Dallas said offhandedly.