Most of the evils of the world today are done because the victim did not distinguish between charisma and integrity. Look at P Diddy! Totally likable, little integrity. However until now people assumed he was a good guy because he had such personality. On the other hand, if a guy whose integrity is 9/10 but has the personality of a cheese grater will likely die alone because people will choose the carnival barker over them.

Graveyard of the 90s

Graveyard of the 90s

Graham Swanson

I try to tell the orphan I adopted what living in the 90s was like but I can’t because there isn’t anything left. Then I awoke at night with the horrible revelation that without evidence, perhaps all the memories of the past are inventions. At once I awoke my nephew, and told him to come on a walk with me in the dark to a far away, secret place.

I lead him from our trailer, under the sunken viaduct, around the fallen gate of the synthetic grass factory, down the small town slum where the homeless sleep in the halls of subsidized apartments, and crackheads rummage the garbage. He held onto my arm as I led him across the war memorial cemetery. Deprived cries pressed up against the dirt, and wobbled our feet, but we made it out to where we barely made out bright lights and masses of merrymakers spilling carelessly there cocktails and hard earned money. The orphan never saw such festivity among adults, but he looked on confused.

“They look so sad, but they are having fun? How can that be?”

“What I will show you won’t answer that,  but it I hope it will make you feel better about it. No matter what you must keep it a secret. If anyone learns of this place, it will disappear forever.”

We walked until the stones receded to clear grass lots, and we travelled so far the when we looked up we saw all the stars in the galaxy.  Faint tint brightened the ground, and before them stood two dirt roads intersected in a helix. Both of them stood, and first the stars disappeared. Then a horrid howl erupted over the distant pines. Then paced patter beat the dust. Untied laces flapped on the road. Boot steps approached.

The slouching stranger obscured by the dark lurched with a stringless guitar smacking his lap. In the center of of the helix road he stopped, and  struck a match. A yellow mane and uncombed beard masked his face, but up so close he stood only as high as my nephew. I offered him the bag of magic rocks I carried. He took out the pale stones, and held them up to the sliver of moon. My nephew shrank back from him as he yawned so hard tears pressed down his cheeks. His hair clung to  Sweat behind his ear and running down his neck. His lips cracked with dryness when they parted, and when he shut them he wiped his nose with his sleeve and dropped the offering in his pocket. Even as he tried to relax tears cleaned trails in the dirt under his eyelids. One arm held the opposite elbow from spasming.

“Okay now, some say this man is a genius. He’s going to show us the way there.”

“I don’t want to go with him.”

The straggler knelt down, and untethered the guitar from his shoulder, and rolled it to rest on his lap. He studied the fear in the kids face, then rose in anger. “You dare bring a child into this world? When was he born? 2009? 2008?”

“It’s okay, Kurt. It’s time he sees it.”

“Silence. Child, do you understand that what you may behold will change the course of your life forever and for all eternity?”

“I already told him”. 

“Very well, but only because I can tell by the look on his face that he’s a better musician than you. Come with me, the both of you, and keep up!  Courtney is waiting for me.”  

“Who?” The Orphan asked.

“Nevermind.” 

He stamped the ground, and a tunnel spilt. Hot oxygen blow out. The guide hurried down and quickly vanished. They followed his patter around winding roots and flowing air valves. The light behind them dissipated, and in the dark they heard the growls of furious demons and the clashing fists of vicious knights cleaving open suits with great axe heads. 

When the light appeared at the other end my nephew clung to me. The guide’s silhouette eclipsed the exit, and dissolved in the brightness. When we came out of the other end, he stood there, at peace, staring over the black hole in the sky, and the garden of musical vegetation surrounded eight once sparkling columns that bolstered high, wide open glass gates under heavy ramparts made from recycled scraps of ship bulwarks. A film of dark clouded the walls. Like a temple without followers it sat hollow and echoing the soaring wind. 

“What is it, uncle?”

“We call it  shopping mall.” 

“There was a time when culture and music glowed from those walls.” The guide stopped walking, and stared at a rotting beanie baby in his palm. His voice echoed in the empty parking lot. “And children safely gathered to peek into windows, and fortunes were made selling make up between a diamond store and  discount shoes.” 

The guide hung his head, then waived for us to follow him as he toured the shadow where the mall roof obstructed the moonlight. Above the ramparts N’SYNC stood vigilant. 

The walls hummed and the air rushed from cracks in the ceiling. Pale moonlight trails swirled on the floor of a dry fountain. Three Boomboxes lay with speakers blown out inside stacked on one apple monitor. 

We walked up an immobile escalator to  the platforms where row after row of heavy iron gate rolled closed and shut the quiet stores. Sun washed posters of models with bleached hair tips covered the windows.

Paper and rats patterned the floor. Behind each pillar awaited a pair of eyes pressing against our backs. Tickle Me Elmo’s cackle echoed behind the trash dispenser. 

From the distance, one store glowed. Its gate rolled up, and inside we saw carefree friends trading pogs. Everyone inside wore overalls. When one young boy tried to leave with pogs in his pocket, the gate collapsed over him. The mall went dark again for a second but for the boys sitting front of a Playstation 1. 

“Oh man, you hear about the Mario movie?” They said.

“Yeah, that movie is going to rock. Did you see that new show called The Simpsons? It's so fresh and on edge.”

Behind the catwalks elderly lovers walked hand in hand in the moonlight of the revived stores. They reminisced about old films, and summer days of a youth they barely remembered. Then a creek of Surge cola flowed down the platform surfed by a barge stirred honestly by Bill Clinton, and faithfully his wife Hillary stood besides him as they guided their vessel in the dark. Michael Jordon's head floated harmlessly over the innocent young idling in the pizza arcade. We went down power ranger forest, where Nintendo buried its failed projects,  then a new store lit up before my nephew, and what he saw stifled him in ways a beautiful maiden will when he’s older. On a pedestal inside stood a single fanny pack. It’s belt woven with jet black fibers, its zipper strong enough to hold shut a space shuttle door. My nephew gently brushed it open, and weaved his fingers over its thread bare designs, the personalized etchings to display personal wealth. 

He took it, and walked out of the store. The doors did not slam shut, and he follow his shadow back towards me and the guide. Confusion and anger wrought his brow, but he shook his head.

“It's his now., but you must leave.” He pointed down a long purple hall where a fire escape waited for them.

“I can’t believe it. A fanny pack.” I sneered at him.

As my nephew and I walked, he held the fanny pack tight against his waist. He looked even more childish than ever. Inside he found premium Revlon wands. 

“I think I like the 90s.” my nephew said. 

But I didn't respond. Two shadows walking in tandem caught my attention. They walked opposite us to the echo of the dial up modem.. They looked like kids themselves, but they wore high black boots and wore heavy rain coats. Caps covered their heads and sunglasses obscured their eyes. One boy held a large duffle bag at his side. The other rested a guitar case on his shoulder. Both Smiled and laughed with one another with affection and compassion. One wore a shirt captioned “Wrath”, other other’s read “Natural Selection.”

“Who are they? I bet they were really cool in the 90s.”

“Don’t look at them. Don’t speak-”

“Wassup, playa! Wicked fanny pack.” One young man said.

“How are you, man? We’re going to shoot hoops with some friends at school. Wanna come?”

“Don’t you fucking get near him.” I braced my nephew and looked both kids in the eye.

They both turned their heads towards each other, the back at us. 

“Chill out, we don’t want to throw down.”

“Straight. We’re just slammin’, talk to the hand.”

They walked together like jet fighters soar in tandem. Both strode past us marching in lockstep reinforced in heavy boots . Their etching steps obliterated the echoes of dance anthems, filthy grunge singers, the beeps of the Tamagotchi, and the childish giggles of the mall. 

I pushed my nephew along once their echoes rang over our ears. He kept hugging my leg not in fear of losing me, but in curiosity, so he could still watch the two boys stalk with their backs turned. I lifted him by the shoulders. He dragged his feet, and left streaks of rubber residue on the tiles.

At home he barricaded himself in the bedroom with the fanny pack, and ever since he’s worn it as a badge in the face of tragedy and misfortune. 

All is Good

 I'm am a writer, an artist, and totally unemployable. Women drive daggers into me. I have a bacteria in my brain and ulcers in my guts. They took my art down for being offensive. I am angry. Life is good. All is good 

My Lost (an unfinished) Sci Fi Novel

My Lost (and unfinished) Sci Fi Novel

Graham Swanson

Pretext: During 2020 I decided to write about the world one hundreds years or so after COVID. This way, all the problems of today would be gone, but the future wouldn't be so perfect that everything is a utopia. For example, there are cyborgs but they aren't going on adventures, they're practically disabled and unable to live comfortable lives. There is a lot of depressing things, but also a great deal of healing. My hard drive burned up before I could finish it. There are many characters, some powerful wardens of planets, others just lowly wage serfs, others are teenagers who break all the rules. This is just one scene close to the beginning of the novel that I uncovered while looking for projects to work on.

 Screeching wingless birds fell from the windmill and bounced on the porch overlooking the gravity orb

hovering over the ocean. Oze whistled over the misty shore beyond the old brick plaster buildings

towards the noiseless contraption of modern electric homes flying over the deep scars in the forests that

used to be highways. Every clipped wing sounded like the arrival of the terrorist helicopter. The footage

remained repeating on the screen. The fake Wolfe Qindrip stood behind a table of scythes, hammers,

flintlock pistols, going on and on about how his Defeatists will bring the world back to a peaceful time,

an easier time, a greater time, once the clock hit midnight, the glitches they imbedded into the code will

cause gravity orbs all over the country to collapse. 

Oze imagined over and over again the meteor strike of 2033, how North Dakota still hadn’t recovered, and all the misery it caused for decades to come. The smallest gravity orb is large enough to block every volcano in the uninhabitable ash heap that was once Hawaii. They rotated with the ease of a snail on rock slime, spinning around once every 6 days, one side of the panels reflected the pale beams from the flying city, and the other side reflected the burning light from the landfill in flames down in the old towns. Towers of gas fumes obscured the shadowy lanes of drone craft where the cold tent towns gathered. Snowflakes started to crown the caliper holding two halves of skull helmet over the cyborg’s contorted brain. 

When the fake Wolfe announced his new movement’s presence to the world, Oze did not cower or fear for his life like the other 311.6 million cyborgs between Taiwan and Olde England. He first met Wolfe at the graduation ceremony in his castle to discuss how easily a cyber terrorist can access their lives. The fraud did not fool him, because the real Qindrip also depended on a heart cylinder to keep him alive, and brain plates to keep his skull from collapsing. The man instead gave the information away to the Amish Extremists to use in the war against the robots. No one dared step up to Wolfe Qindrip, those few who did wound up converted to fuel in an energy converter in a lost warehouse. 

The fake Qindrip rolled up his sleeves, straightened his wool vest, and brushed the little strand of hair from his forehead back to the party locks combed on his scalp. In the 1700s, he would’ve burned the hearts out of many  women, married or no, with his steel brown eyes, and pouting lips that he liked to bite as he battled with contradictions in his mind. Oze almost let the magnetism fool him until he remembered the scars on the glass of Qindrips heart cylinder, and the plates on his head didn’t just keep his skull together, they went all the way into his brain, and the medical probes sticking out under his tongue turned different collors depending his emotions. No technician designed it this way, and no one could tell Qindrip why it occurred, no matter how much money he spent around the world looking for an answer. 

Oze pumped his heart valves, and let his upgraded legs clank to the window and reflected on his handicapped accessible surroundings. The pins in his spine ached, his optical scope needed oiled, and the salt in the air gave his one remaining elbow joint pains, and no matter how much the sound of crashing waves sent him into dreamspells about snorkling at the bottom to search for pearls again, the thought of sand getting into his anemic laboratory box made him feel the dolls of his sister he used to pull apart as a child, thread by thread. The plug slots blinked with red ringlets of death, all houses in the flying city came on top with their own power stations, all tailored with emergency levers, emergency landing pads, drains for hosing down in the shower, and elevators for each specific body augment keeping his legal practice alive. Even if Seto Inc.  wanted to release waterproof upgrades, right now he’d die in the fifteen minute travel time to the surface of the earth. 

Below Amish castles claimed the Pennslyvania coast against the Lakerfront. They gave all the land away to horses and cattle to feed on, and erected barns to store lamp oil, forgeries to hammer out steel nails, even dirt roads for their wagons. He poured out a bottle of cytofossils over their crops where he sometimes saw teenage mothers playing with their children. The Amish extremists wore heavy robes, collected robotics and “cleansed” them in the landfill fire. Nothing made Oze’s anxiety meters flash than the luddites trying to repress the progress of a cybernetic world. 

Seeing all the women with their children made him even more frustrated, and this meter he tore out o his fuse flower long ago. In his footlocker, he kept three things hid away. His favorite novel. His Olympic medal. A pillow shaped like Pikahcu he hoped to give to his own child as an heirloom to sleep on after playing, to nibble on when scared, to leave in the dirt when a kite flies over head. The Amish kept having children too. More, and more, and more, more, and more. His balls were the first thing to go when the surgeons started laser trimming away all his destroyed body tissue. Now he faced the mockery of life from a series of wires, batteries, and cooling fans. 

Over the towers of the Amish holds, the mist cleared, and the sun started to rise. A helicopter shadow pressed against the pumpkins, arriving from the twilight blue of sea fog, wings blowing away the landfill smoke, directly towards the landing pad of Oze’s flying house. Too shy to crash, it hovered over his porch, with each whisk of its rotors a humming bird echoed. High winds blew its landing gear to the side. The door slid open.

The slacking figure of a smoking shadow stepped with one foot onto the landing gear, one arm tightly confined by a tether, and the silhouette of a ceremonial sword on his waist. As the helicopter sank, his long skinny legs, thick powerful shoulders came into the light. Short hair obscured the face of the visitor. He flicked his cigarette down to the burning landfill, and the wind unbottuned his shirt. Flesh and polyester scales woven togetether. 

Wolfe Qindrip didn’t loose his footing even as the wind picked back up. His hair blew from his face, whipped his eyes and lips, but he didn't let go of his tether or the sword. the polyester around his chest became fully exposed, he made no effort to hide his body. People, Amish and Cyborg, condemned him all the time, but no court of the public convicted him. He wore boots of horse leather.

The helicopter landed and Qindrip told the autopilot to leave the rotors spinning. Oze watched from the dimness of the window, he took an explosive knife from the banister, and hid it in his fuse chamber. His remaining bones shook against hot metal. Not only did he need to get plugged in to charge, but his cardio data went offline, and he’d need fresh dilation serum to prevent overheated nylon from melting into his bloodstream. He stayed up all night reading up on cases and neglected to take care of himself. Qindrip held a vile of steaming cold blue neon and gestured at the one way mirror windows. 

Pistons sank, grates spun, and resting mounds of bird feathers fluttered into the air and rained down on the earth as the porch door lifted open. A screen remained tight over the entrance to keep the wind and air out. The house rocked, and the cyborg gripped a rail to keep his feet stable, but Qindrip remained upright, his clean shaven face, his manicured fingernails, in the rear of his helicopter waited 3 bearded shadows in black overalls, eyes concealed by wide hat brims, not a single button, lace or chain stitched into their jackets, but heavy rifles rested in each of their laps. Most Amish renounced this small faction back when only six members rioted against self driving cars, but the more intrusive technology became, the more fiery  young farmers left home to train with them, little did they know cybernatic implants would be forcibly installed.

“Mr. Wo, I want your endorsement for President.” Qindrip proposed buttoning his shirt  as the rocking ceased and the cyborg got back to his feet. His heart cylinder ran after, smoother, silently, his brain plates didn’t take his hair to fall out, instead his hair covered the receptor blades.

“Any one can become a cyborg.”

“That’s why it's so important that we come together. Did you ask to become a cyborg?  No. You used to be a human. You miss being a human too.”

“You’d turn all of this into nuts and bolts, you’re not welcome here. You’re just wasting time and money on this campaign.”

“The Transhumanists will turn you nuts and bolts. I want you to be a human again, Ozzy, I want you to swim again, and have lots of healthy children. I know it looks uncertain, but we grow stronger day by day. We already have seats in Olde England, we’re expanding into Florida, Ohio, and there are millions of new cyborgs in every state. All we need is one seat, and we’ll sip orange juice on the veranda seeing  the entire country fall in line.”

“Are you even on the ballot?”

Qindrip bent over hurling kind laughter, his mouth glowed bright like a yellow flashlight. “Oh, Ozzy, you really are a number. There’s still time to save ourselves. I see the error of my ways now. It was wrong to try to cleanse… destroy the cyborgs. You were right, no infant chooses to be a cyborg. That’s why my new plan is to harness the awesome  power of recycling, and use those shiny new plants to reverse this travesty, give us back our flesh, give us back our bodies, and return the soul to this beautiful body.” 

“You mean the fraud is running for president. This guy on the screen.”

“Oh him. Well yeah, I anticipate difficulties educating the people on the issues, and I'd rather have a face that’s more willing to take a risk out in public while I monitor from the fortitude of my headquarters. It’s the only way to make up for the harm I’ve caused.”

“You could go to prison and do your time.”

“We both know they’d just send me back to the Earth's surface. Those aren't prisons, they are high school locker rooms. I’ve been through that process about twelve times now, and worse people than me are being set free.”

“You only want to use the flying cities as prisons.”

“Flying cities are prison.”

“Then I'll keep my support for Seto. He’s a good man, he’ll stop chuting criminals to the surface and keep the cyberterrorists from hacking into our homes. We’ll be free once there are charging stations on the earths’ surface.”

“You really believe that? Very well, Mr. Wo, you know more than I do perhaps. How are the lawsuits going? Not well. Everyone knows it's a lost cause, but my Amish Cyborgs, they are rooting for you. You are loved. That’s why I've decided to tell you where my code stealer is.”

“Who?

“The man who rigged the gravity orb codes. He can tell you how to fix it. He lives on a hemp farm down in the forests. Good luck, Mr. Wo.” Qindrip stepped on his landing gear, and as the helicopter lifted back into the air, he enjoyed the cool wet air on his smooth cheeks, and sipped the serum. Pieces of dead birds continued raining down to the earth below. 

Oze tried to prevent a bird from flying into the windmill blades, but only ended up catching it before it fell through the porch grating. His capacitors ran empty, the tube in his mouth emitted nothing but hot air, and he struggled to breath, to see, to walk as he carried the injured bird to his work desk. Qindrip was wrong about one thing. His life might depend on machines, but his will to live never dissipated. As he collected the tools and material he’d need, bonded serum for the bird, and made coffee for himself, he failed to realize his heart cylinder had already stopped turning.

The "Pirates of Mars" Tragedy

The "Pirates of Mars" Tragedy

by Graham Swanson

Pretext: Pirates of Mar is one of the most sought after "lost" movies of all time. Producers believed it to be the next Star Wars early on, but it quickly went over budget, production fumbled stunt scenes and action scenes, many times entire scenes needed to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. They outsourced their CGI from rogue nations, and brought on actors with no prior experience in Hollywood.  Despite its failure however it earned a cult following and has since many scenes have been recovered, but never the full footage has never been recovered.

I

The Premiere 

Jaimi’s heart pounded as he cusped the limousine door handle. The driver stopped but he still sat, breathing against the tinted windows, empty shot glass in his hand, his face pale in fear. The driver remained professional for about a minute, then saw the other limousine drivers back up behind him. 

“Hey man, the movie is about to start.” 

“Wow , that’s a lot of people… maybe another drink first.”

“No, just get out of the car. You’ve arrived. They won’t bite you.” 

“I’m not afraid of getting bit” Jaimi brushed the 800$ haircut he got for this one event over to the side of his ear. Despite being 19, he looked like he could be 16 or even 26. “Is this tux on right? I feel like it shouldn’t be tucked in. Untucked or tucked, what do you think?” 

“Man, I have to get this car back in an hour. Would you mind?” 

“Oh god, I should’ve just brought my mom. Hey, why does that guy’s tux look different from mine?” 

“This really goes beyond my training as a driver. You should get out now, sir. You’ll miss the premiere.” 

“Maybe just go around the block one more time…”

“One more time-” The driver’s face turned red. The doctor told him to control his stress. He didn’t raise his voice or pound the steering wheel. “Listen, never ask me to do that again, and if you don’t get out, I will get you that second drink, but only so I can throw your lily white ass out of this car.” 

“At this point I might prefer that.”

“If there was a cigarette lighter in this vehicle I would burn you with it. Get out please sir.” 

“That’s okay I don't smoke.” 

“My uncle has got emphysema, so I don't miss it. Still though, no ash trays?”

“The thing that I never understood- cars got everything. Cupholders, sunglasses holders, seat warmers, but no refuse collector? Nothing to put garbage in?”

“Yeah I still have to carry a grocery sack with me between every car. It’s disgusting what some people do too. 

“They’re slobs.” 

“Cars get dirty fast too. I mean, would it really be a lot?” 

“Maybe it's against consumer safety.”

“I don’t see how it could be.”

“I’m actually against seatbelts. I think people should just drive slower.” 

“What if they have to use the highway?”

“No one needs to be out there. I used to work at a truck stop on I-80, nothing good is ever happening on the highways.” 

“The world is a scary place, and there’s no garbage cans in our cars. And now our seatbelts are useless.”

“And if we did that, insurance would be cheaper if not a thing of the past, because there wouldn’t be so many accidents.” 

“Never thought of it like that.”

They sat in the car pondering their own philosophies for a second.

“Okay now, get out! Get out”!!!!!!!

Jaimi screamed and jumped out. The limousine screeched and sped off behind a cloud of smoke. Jaimi had never seen so many pretty people packed into one place before. It was hard for him to believe that before this began, he was flipping burgers for 12$ an hour at a fast food joint. Now he was walking down the red carpet surrounded by flashing cameras leading to the marquis of the most prestigious theater in California. 

The producer, Thomas Claire, wore a cream colored suit with a bar stripe tie. He patted other producers and friends on the shoulder. Jaimi gasped. Around him stood Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, Hugh Jackman, Taylor Swift, and other more mysterious powerful people. Jaimi took his seating assignment and tried to sneak into the theater but Claire took him by the hand and brought him into the light of the terrifying and successful peers (or rivals depending on how you look at it.)

“Look at this guy, I'm so proud of him.” Claire gave him a couple fake karate chops. Jaimi awkwardly blocked the chops, and carefully looked around to make sure no Asian people were there to witness it. Sure enough Bruce Lee’s daughter scowled at them both from across the room. “This guy right here has got what it takes.”

“Didn’t you used to be a waiter or somethin’ 

“I wish. I flipped burgers.”

“That a boy! Humble origins. You’ll see it in the film tonight, I tell ya. Go take your seat, boy. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Jaimi ran away and got lost in the midst of all the people. 

“Thomas Saint-May Claire, how much did you spend on this movie?”

“Money is nothing. It’s all about vision, character, and believing.” 

The director, Max Donovan pulled his star aside and sat with him at the bar alone. The director ordered them each a 10$ cocktail. He leaned in close so that Jaimi could hear him. “Listen kid, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this…. Fight that happened on set.”

“Which one?”

“Good boy.”

“No for real, which fight, because…”

“None of them. If anyone asks, I never made you guys fight the crew to determine who got catering, hot showers, and so on.”

“OK, I really have no one to talk to so…”

“Good. Do you have any cigarettes?”

“No, I don't smoke.”

“Oh well I started tonight.” He pulled out a pack of Montegos. They go for 3$ in most retail locations. “There’s got to be a gas station nearby. I can't go on without smoking.”

“No there isn’t. There's nothing but theater and dog parks around here.”

“Damn it!” Donovan threw his glass to the floor. “Listen boy, they might break my legs after this one. I don't want you to be nervous, but they will take my whole ass for this one. Just don’t tell them about the time… heck you know what, I’ve already booked my trip to Belize. If you want to come along, you want to just tell me right now because by the end of this I'm going to be too drunk to know what you are talking about.”

“C’mon Don, you’ve made great movies in the Indie scene. GoodBye Velvet,  True Colors, The Reckoning.”

“Damn smut films, Jaimi. All I did was tell naked ladies where to stand.”

The Special Effects Supervisor, Alicia Wu, sat down. “You know, I saw your little martial arts demonstration over there, Jaimi. Some of us worked really hard to be where we are today, and I don’t appreciate some alley cat being walked down the red carpet just for that one bit.” 

“It wasn’t my idea, I didn’t know what to do.”

Yu spilled her drink all over her dress. “Let me get another so I can spill it on your shirt. You’ve got it all nice and tucked in, and let me help you with that.” 

She untucked his shirt and then ordered another cocktail. Makeup already rolled down her face as she threatened to fight Max. 

Ace, the Stunt Coordinator, still had a neck brace on. Several burn scars covered what Jaimi saw of his face/ One arm was still in a cast. Jaimi felt bad and had to say something.

“I’m sorry about your finger. Could they?”

“Sew it back on? Yeah, but the real problem is gonna be the plate in my head, doctor says. Here, feel it.” He grabbed Jaimi’s hand and began to rub the hard spots in his skull. 

The production Assistant, Sarah Leeson, came between them, and hugged them both. Her makeup and hair all bright and happy, she jumped up and down and screamed and took selfies with them.

“I've been looking all over for you two! Why are you hiding? Wasn’t this so much fun? I can’t believe in a million years WE got to make a big movie!

“I’m nervous, Sarah. I mean, what if people don’t like it?”

“Oh I’m sure it will be fine. At least we got to travel.” Sarah took her heels off to run over to greet more people. 

Jaimi finally got into the movie theater itself when he saw the only person he wanted to see that night. The personable and pretty cosplayer, Talli Holmes. They walked in at the same time, and Jaimi’s heart almost exploded out of his untucked tux. Talli seemed almost indifferent until he said hello. In the crowded theater she didn't hear him so he shouted it a little louder. 

She turned because she heard him yell, not because she heard him say hi to him. 

“Hey, have we met before?” she squinted her eyes and asked.

“No, but I follow you on Instagram. I can’t believe you came tonight.”

“Well, I've never been to a big premiere, and I meet most of my fans at conventions, events like this, sci fi type stuff.” 

“Hey if you’d like, I can make them change seats so we can sit together. Maybe we can exchange Instas.”

“Hmm yeah that might be cool.”

“Sure, I sit right there.”

“Oh, our seats are only one row apart. I sit one down from you. I’ll just do that.” she smiled and darted off. “Have fun at your premiere!” 

Jami took his seat and glanced at the empty seat next to Talli’s. A tall, muscular basketball player sat in the empty seat beside Talli. Her eyes lit up and they immediately greeted and began exchanging little jokes in the cacophony of the room. The lights fell dark, and Jaimi thought “oh boy the worst is past! Now we can watch the movie and everything will be okay.”

There were no opening credits. They cut it because the editors decided not to leave anyone’s name on it. Instead if just started with SPACE PIRATES! 

The movie’s name was “PIRATES OF MARS” and it said so on the poster. 

The first thing coming across the cardboard backdrop of space was a fleet of tin foil plates floating into battle. One by one they lit on fire (with a lighter)  and got sucked into holes. Faces in the sun and on the planet Mars began to give orders to the ship’s captains. Muffled laughter arose from the audience, and Jaimi began to sweat. 

II 

MARS UNFOLDS

Thrag the Great Khan of Mars wore loose rubber armor that wobbled when he walked. Threads came loose as he stepped up to the camera. For some reason they filmed with a narrow lens from far away. Despite being 6’9’’ and weighing 200 lbs of pure muscle, he appeared thin and naked compared to the other characters on screen. 

Whenever he jumped out of his spacecraft, the audience laughed while others groaned.Mars looked more pink than red, and the sand the villain condemned the hero, Cyberman, to be entombed with looked more like cow manure with red glitter on top. The cardboard buildings in the background got used again and again, so even when characters visited another planet, the same Martian towers stood in the exact same place. Thrag announced his plan to destroy all the cyber ninjas, and sent his Martian army to combat them. But the battle never came. It went on and on with a love story between Cyberman and the princess. Jaimi held out hope for his character, who was Cyberman’s best friend. In actuality, Cyberman was only on screen for five minutes. JAimi did all the work on screen. Suddenly all the waivers made sense to him as his character climbed up tall cliffs, jumped into pools, got shot with x-rays, kicked in the head, bitten by space animals, and chased by Cyberninjas. No matter what he did, all the other characters would applaud the accomplishments of Cyberman. His only action scene was raising his rocket fist… and they used that shot about forty times throughout the first act. 

“Never Underestimate the Power of the Human spirit!” Was Cyberman’s war cry… even though Jaimi was the only human character. The rest were Martians or robots. 

Their costumes looked like something from Spirit Halloween. Big silver boxes with red flashlights for eyeballs. The martians looked even worse. They wore garbage bags and despite their reputation for being feared war mongers, they kept breaking into dance routines. It didn’t stop. 

Jaimi cringed whenever he saw himself on screen. He dreaded the part that he knew was coming up. His monologue. The speech was written last minute, and he didn’t have much time to rehearse it. When all of Mars was listening, he began his speech: “ If we don’t start cleaning up the environment  and stop pollution now, it will be too late. Independence! Freedom!”

The audience started chuckling. Jaimi looked over at Talli and the other guy, who were laughing together and pointing at the screen. They kept whispering little inside jokes and laughing with each other as Jaimi jumped out of a speeding spacecraft that was obviously two feet from the studio floor.

Sarcastic cheers arose from the audience whenever Jaimi appeared on screen, always under the shoulder of Cyberman. At one point he was firing fist rockets at “Death Ships” that were just 4-wheelers with visors over the driver’s faces. Then the love scenes began. This movie did NOT want to give up on its robot/princess love story. Four times in the first act did Cyberman and the Princess have a long, indulging sex scene that went on and on and on. 

Jaimi looked over one more time to see Talli and the guy next to her holding hands. 

III

The Climax

Not only did the actor have to pull off dangerous stunts, but in the movie they looked feeble. In one scene Jaimi was supposed to grab a rope, and use it to swing onto a spaceship. Instead the rope broke, so in the movie they showed him swinging, and then reversed the shot so that it looked like he fell backwards and landed in the prop case. 

The audience burst into laughter. Jaimi shrank in his seat, his tuxedo collar scratched his neck. He covered his eyes and prayed that someone in the audience would have a baby or something just so the laughter would stop. One row up, Talli and the guy were leaning into each other. She rested his head on his shoulder as his hand rubbed her thigh. Jaimi’s heart sank. People began to stand up and walk out. 

IV

The Cost of Failure 

Jaimi hoped at least the film’s final battle between the space pirates, cyber ninjas, martians, and sun people would redeem the film. Instead he watched with his jaw hanging as he beheld a poorly edited garden of technical and continuity errors. Everytime Cyberman’s suit malfunctioned, causing him to lurch while all the others ran, or causing one of the lights on his suit to blind him, the audience roared with laughter. Every line Cyberman said came out of synch. More Martians copy/pasted CGI clumsily placed on top of the cardboard background said strangely dark jokes. No matter how many Martians Cyberman seemed to kill, no matter how many tinfoil ships caught fire, no matter how many guys in tan suits ran into action, somehow the battle didn’t get close to being over. Thrag got killed three times, but would always appear just fine in the next scene wearing the same neon tank top since his armor didn’t fit. Despite the one sided, droning battle, the space Pirates and their allies kept swearing they needed to surrender before it was too late. Jaimi wished they would lose just so he could get the hell out of the theater. His face turned red. Talli was laughing uncontrollably, the guy’s arm around the back of her neck. When the movie ended, he kissed her on the neck, and they got up and left together. Jaimi wanted to ask her what she thought of the movie, but she  and her new date walked right past him. 

V

The Aftermath 

Jaimi smoked a cigarette and sat in the alley with the cats and the homeless people. His tux untucked, his tie undone, his rented jacket soiled with dirty alley water, and his unblinking eyes looking into the abyss beneath the dumpster. 

People streamed out of the theater. Some angrily demanded money back. Some couldn’t stop laughing.
Some gathered in front of the building to talk about the hell they thought they just saw. Claire walked out last, his head high, his face red with joy as he talked to the people about it. “I think this movie has tremendous potential overseas. I loved every bit of it. Creativity! Wonder! Robots!” 

The director Max wasn’t around for the post premiere meeting with producers. He already boarded a plane to Belize.

Max never made another Hollywood movie. He made several small budget movies over the years and became a cult icon amid B movie fans.

Thomas Claire had to shut down and sell his production company. Despite the immense monetary loss, he continued winning awards up til his early death ten years later. 

Jake Ramirez, the screenwriter, was sued by Graham Swanson (the original writer of Pirates of Mars). He never wrote another script again, but did publish a novel about the production of the film.

Alicia Wu ended up going back to Korea, where she opened a small special effects business. 

Ace the stunt coordinator continues to work in Hollywood to this day. 

Sarah went back to school and studied interior design. She died of a drug overdose in her motel room on Christmas day after graduating. 

Fifteen years went by. Jaimi found himself back where he started. Flipping burgers on the highway for minimum wage. Any place he went, guys and girls gestured and made remarks about CYBERMAN or his rope stunt. The other guys in the kitchen, gruff, bearded, no teeth, with butterfly eyes made fun of him daily.

“I may be a convicted felon, but at least I’m not this guy!” They’d say almost everyday. 

The manager once stepped in. “Its inappropriate and unprofessional to make fun of your co worker but what was with the alien lobster? Why was the princess riding it?” They all shared a laugh.

Jaimi hoped the movie died in the past but the internet revived scenes of it for the whole world to ridicule. Convention organizers invited him to host panels, documentary makers asked him for interviews, but he only hurled his phone against the sidewalk. He cursed Pirates of Mars and hexed everything about it.

They all rolled in laughter until they noticed Jaimi was standing there in the corner filling sauce cups with a pitcher. He didn’t even notice. More than a decade it just became a part of the scenery. 

Jaimi’s good looks didn’t entirely go away. They hid under scar tissue. One day he tried to stop a thief. His boss threatened to fire anyone who didn’t at least try, and so a highway bandit stabbed him in the eye in the parking lot. Later a drunk driver steered into his lane and flipped him upside down. Shrapnels cut his throat, and left a thick black scar over his trachea. On his days off, Jaimi stayed at home and sipped tea because he didn't feel well.

    Due to the water they made him swim in on set, a bacteria got into his brain, causing continual health problems that required near constant doctor’s visits, medications, and vast testing including CAT scans that he could not afford. All the money he made flipping burgers went either to landlords, the utility company, or to the hospital. With the bills, he figured he also spent any chance he had in the movie making business.

One night his manager rolled in. 

“Jaimi, you sent out the wrong order again.”

“Can you just tell him it’ll be a hot minute?”

“You can tell him.”

Jaimi hung his head and walked out to the counter. A tall road worker stood there with long blonde hair, a sunburned face, white lips, and both hands on the counter. The man dumped his bag of greasy food onto the floor and immediately ripped into Jaimi. 

“You greasy monkeys want 15$ an hour but you can’t even take the tomatoes off my sandwich!” 

“Sorry sir, you can just take the tomatoes off yourself if you don’t like them.”

“No I don't. That’s your job. You guys don’t work hard, you have no skills, you never went to school, and you wonder why you’re stuck working at a dump like this!” 

Jaimi thought of the time Max had him jump between fan blades and then made him redo it because the costume wasn’t right. The blades hit him in the head and he needed stitches. He actually got the role because the director liked his skills on camera. He did go to school, but he earned a degree in public relations and mythological study. It did not help him get a high paying job at all. 

“Listen buddy, sorry you’re having a bad day, I can remake your food if you will be so patient.”

“No, I don't want more food.”

“So you just came in to throw a tantrum?”

“What?” The man looked startled, he reached for non-existent pearls on his neck. “I work twelve hours a day, over time baby, every fucking day, you can’t even make a sandwich right!” 

“If you’re not here to get some food, then get the fuck out!”

“How dare you! I’ll call the owner and have you fired. Then what’re you gonna do?”

“You have no idea how cool I am with that idea.” 

“Bro, I paid for this, shouldn’t you be giving me my money back?”

“Actually it says here that the order isn’t even completed yet. You still have to pay for that food which you stole and then dumped on the floor.”

“You calling me a thief?”

“I'm not calling you a thief, you are a thief. Now get the fuck out of here! Bring it to the next burger joint but leave now and never come back!” 

The guy took out twenty dollars and left it on the counter.

“That's for the food.”

“Thanks.” Jaimi took it and put it in his pocket. 

The manager walked up. 

“Hmmm, Jaimi, I’m gonna have to tell regional about this.”

“Do it. I quit.” Jaimi threw down his apron and made sure the sink was full of dishes before he left. He wondered how far 20 dollars might take him in this crazy world. Driving down the highway, he wondered if he could find a silver lining in his situation.