As I step my way into Stevie’s humble abode, I am met with a barrage of color. There are multi-colored Christmas lights plastered along the top of the walls. Paired with that, and the warm ceiling fan light above, they both illuminate the unappealing interior design.
I never was a fan of 70's decor, mainly because that's what my house has always been growing up. What with the brown shag carpet, and the wood paneled walls, I always thought it reeked of disco, and political corruption. But somehow, Stevie managed to make it work with this trailer.
Maybe it’s because it's the extra decor with the lights and posters hanging around, but there's something about the inside of Stevie's trailer that's just so homely. It reminds me of my own room with posters and art from all the shows we like. There’s a small kitchen area across from where you step in, with a stove and busted up mini fridge. The main rectangle of the place consists of a small two-seater couch and end table to my left. In the far corner rests a janky looking U-shaped booth with a table. Finally, across from the couch, in the space between the kitchen and U-shaped booth rests a tiny entertainment center holding a CRT TV. The small shelf under is filled to the brim with DVDs, VHS tapes, and old video games. Leave it to Stevie to still collect old media.
"How’d you manage to score this place?" I ask looking back at Stevie, who has now plopped himself on the couch.
Stevie crosses his legs, pointing around. "Well, I got the base motor home from my good buddy Becca after she lost her legs on a skiin' trip."
"Oh my God!" I look away, shocked at the news. I let out a broken chuckle. It’s one of those things you know you shouldn’t laugh at, but you do anyway.
"I am so sorry."
"Ah well, she had it comin' when she landed in a bear's home. Oh, and don't say sorry to 'me' Blake, I still have my limbs hehe…"
Stevie's light chuckle picks up into a full-on laugh. I cross my arms, clicking my tongue at him in joking disapproval.
"Man, that's just so wrong."
"Yeah, yeah I know." Stevie throws him hands up defensively, "I'll be here all week."
"What about the back part? And that weird top thing?” I ask, pointing up to the small red area above where the front seats lie. “It doesn't look like it belongs here."
"Ah! That thing above us dear friend is a cab-over bunk from another camper. Bought ‘em off another good buddy of mine for about 150. Same goes for the back part there. It’s a back half of a ‘Wenne that I converted into a bedroom-bathroom hybrid!" Stevie exclaims pointing to the closed door at the back. His face gleams, proud of himself.
I tilt my head, crossing my arms.
"Any wild story to go with this one?"
"Nope!" Stevie shakes his head, "Everything went well. Got Mexican food after, it was good!"
"Uh huh..." I mumble to myself, continuing my look around. Stevie's walls are covered with posters for various movies and shows he's into. My eyes freeze on one section of wall at the back though, and I stop turning, gazing at the sight.
"Woah…"
Stevie walks up, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"This my dear friend, is my favorite wall of the camper. My armory!"
The back wall of the room has been redone with a different type of paneling, letting Stevie hang his array of weapons around the door. Most of them are replica swords, all based on some iconic weapon from a video game or show. There are katanas, lightsabers, the works. There’s even a buster sword leaned up against the corner. It’s almost over-stimulating, seeing all of these different colors and styles clashing, concentrated on one small wall in Stevie’s camper.
"God Stevie you're a geek." I mutter, crossing my arms.
"Correction, proud geek." he gloats.
"You got any guns?" I ask, noting the lack of firearms.
Stevie shakes his head in contempt, "Pops ain't exactly a fan of me owning actual firearms." He reaches up, grabbing the paintball gun above the door, "So I went with the next best thing!"
It's a dark green camouflage, with a black mis-shapened tub on top, and a bunch of Co2 canisters hastily taped to the stock. It looks janky, but most of Stevie's homemade stuff looks like that.
"Believe it or not, this sucker is a world record holder."
"Oh yeah?" I comment dismissively, tracing my finger along the gun's side.
"Yep! The fastest paintball gun is 667 feet per second, but mine is a cool 668!"
"Mhm?" I mumble, nodding along at Stevie’s tendency to over-exaggerate things.
"You know, I actually haven't gotten to shoot this thing 'n a hot minute." Stevie looks at me, a weird smile crossing him.
"Blake lemme shoot ya!"
My eyes light up in a panic, "Wait what?!" I begin backing away as Stevie opens up a nearby drawer and pulls out a plastic container full of paint balls.
"Wait a sec Stevie, you can't just shoot me I'm practically naked!" I shout. I'm wearing my blood-stained dark blue hoodie and jeans, but God only knows how powerful that gun is.
"Stevie, this isn’t a good idea!" I try to plead again, now backing away until I’m below the loft above. I’m across the camper from Stevie, but still just as scared.
Stevie continues pouring the bright green paint balls into the container on top of the gun.
"The reload time for this thing is about 10 seconds, and Blake, I'm already close to halfway done. You're running out of time.”
Oh, my crap.
In a blind panic, I hastily begin searching for something to hide behind- A table, a chair, anything. My heart races with desperation, as I unconfidently settle on a stale, faded couch cushion.
“Oh Blaaaaake!” Stevie shouts, pulling back on the makeshift charging handle. He lets go, and it spits a satisfying metallic slam.
As Stevie lifts the gun up to me, I bury my body behind the cushion. The drab dark green is an eyesore, but it looks thick enough to protect me.
Hopefully.
I hold my breath, clenching my teeth as I crouch down.
Burying myself behind the cushion, I expect the worst. The satisfying ‘pth-oomf’ sound goes off, flinching me out of my skin, but I don’t feel anything.
Nothing at all.
Stevie fires another shot, but I feel nothing again.
I slowly peak over my barrier but drop my head as Stevie fires again. The shot flies right over my head, splattering behind. I hear him laughing.
“C’mon Blake, you’re gonna get shot eventually!”
I feel adrenaline pumping through me as I assess the situation. I’ve gotta find a way to fight back, otherwise Stevie is eventually gonna land a shot on me.
What has my life come to?
When I popped my head up, I caught a brief sight of the armory behind Stevie. If I can make it there, I might have a fighting chance.
I grip the cushion, readying myself.
“Bring it!” I shout to Stevie, before lunging myself up and forward. I charge Stevie, using the cushion as a shield. I feel the shots bumping against my barrier, like small shoves. The pushing gets rougher though, as I close in on Stevie. As I bring my body into his we slam into the door behind, before bouncing to the carpet below. I hear him laughing under the cushion I landed on.
“How do you plan on defendin’ yourself there friend?” he asks as I hop off of him. I crack a smile, admiring my options. There’s a ton of different swords, but I need something easy to use.
My eyes eventually rest on something familiar, and my heart races as I grab it.
“Howdy!” Stevie shouts. As I turn to see him, he raises the gun up to me. I jump, rolling out of the way as he fires another round off. I now stand on the other side of the camper again.
I hold my weapon up, and hit the button, igniting the lightsaber.
Amidst all the weapons, I saw the slim, black hilt with a white, clear plastic blade attached. It’s been a minute since I’ve played with one of these, but I’m hoping my Jedi skills will kick in. Just this once.
Stevie laughs, throwing his gun to the ground.
“My dear Blake, it’s been so long since our last duel, do you think you can even keep up?”
I raise the lightsaber up, taking my pose.
“I think I’ve got some fight left in me.” I say putting on a gravely, over-dramatic voice.
Stevie reaches up, grabbing a scissor blade. It's bright shiny red body glistens in my eyes. He holds it out, before taking a pose. He’s crouched down, legs spread apart as if about to jump out the camper.
“私たちは捏造された現実に住んでいます。”
I give him a puzzled look, “Hold on, when did you learn Japanese?!”
Stevie nods, and cackles menacingly.
“大きなお世話-... ehh… みそ汁！”
Stevie lunges at me. I step to the side and using the blade I block the incoming force. Our blades clash, and I counter by swiping at Stevie’s legs. He falls to the ground, but quickly jumps back up to strike back. He goes for an uppercut and slaps me right on the chin. A sharp pain fills my face as I fall back, flying right onto my back. I struggle to catch my breath, very winded from the encounter. Melee weapons were never my strong suit, and Stevie is a clear-cut reason why. He always practiced a lot more than me growing up.
As I open my eyes, Stevie approaches, looming over me.
“You alright there home slice?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a bit winded.”
He nods, shaking his head as he stretches, “Yeah, yeah me too.”
I struggle to get up, rubbing the back of my head.
“Hey Blake, you want pizza?”
* * *
“You want one?” Stevie asks, handing me a can of some soda-flavored seltzer I’ve never heard of. I take it, observing the cold, water dripping can. I haven’t had alcohol since high school.
“Wait, you can buy these now?!” I ask looking up at Stevie. He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Blake buddy, y’know we’re of age, right?” Stevie asks before taking a bite of pizza.
I shake my head, holding my hands up, “Right, right, sorry. I forget how long it’s been.”
“Yup!” Stevie shouts, cracking his own can open, “Been a hot minute since our high-school days ain't it?!”
“I guess.” I say, chuckling before cracking my can open. It lets a satisfying hissing noise out as I raise the can to my mouth.
It tastes like soda, but with a sour-accented twist. Not very good, but also not very bad? It’s ok.
I grab another slice of the pizza Stevie had ordered, before plopping down on the couch.
Stevie’s now hunched over in front of his shelf, perusing his movie section.
"Stevie where'd you learn Japanese?!"
"Online tutors, duh." he mutters, still focused on the movie shelf.
“Whatcha thinking?” I ask, taking another sip.
Stevie’s eyes are still on his movies, and I see his arm already reaching for one DVD case in particular. I smile, instantly recognizing the white and bright blue colors, and the familiar reptilian monsters on the front. Stevie holds it out to me.
‘Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla’ was always my favorite giant monster flick, and Stevie knew from my smile that it was going to be what we watched tonight. He pops it into his Ps2, before plopping next to me as the music kicks in.
I’ve been a fan of giant monsters since my younger years, where I remember constantly begging Mom and Dad to buy whatever monster movie we had rented at Blockbuster the night before.
Unfortunately for me though, Godzilla movies (my favorites) are a bit of a pain to get a hold of. That is, unless you happen to live in Japan. That’s where Stevie came in.
With Stevie having the strangest movie plugs on the internet, he’s managed to snag most of the classics on burnt DVD’s. I take another sip of this seltzer, starting to feel a buzz as I loosen up. The action in the movie is beginning to look a lot more enjoyable.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
There's something so innately awe-inspiring to me about older monster movies. The combination of the poorly aged special effects, cheesy designs, and unintentionally over-the-top plots fill me with a special kind of happiness. I always imagine what it'd be like to see a giant monster in real life. How both horrifying and awesome it'd be to see one stomping around a city. I start giggling at the dumb thought of it.
“WhaT’re YoU giGgliN’ aT dumbass?” Stevie asks.
I sway my head over to him but can’t say anything. I just laugh, and eventually he laughs too.
The movie eventually finishes, and we pop in another. I take a sip. We get bored of movies though, and so we start playing games. I take another sip, finishing another can, Two or three matches of a fighting game later, and I’m feeling great.
It just keeps going too, as I begin to lose count of how much I’ve had. Our little hangout has turned into a two-man rave, music and all. Eventually Stevie and I begin dueling again, only now using some spare foam training swords Stevie had made. At least I think they’re training swords, I can hardly see straight, let alone stand. Stevie takes a strike at me, clocking me right in the face. I fall to the ground laughing harder than I ever have before.
During my fall though, I felt a rush from my stomach. It was quick, swift, and I knew what was coming. I’ve only been on the ground for a few seconds, but the spins have already kicked in. I feel like I’m a washing machine turned on high. I feel my face heating up, and my skin crawling as I rush to find somewhere I can throw up.
“Bat-...tr...oom?”
Stevie points to the back of the camper, and before he can say anything, I’ve already bolted, feeling more nauseated by the second. As the door is opened, I look to the right and see the bathroom door. As soon as I’ve entered, I’ve already fallen to my knees and leaned over the toilet. My body takes over as I puke up the greasy pizza from earlier.
The gross looking mixture of pepperoni, bread, and growing self-doubt flood Stevie’s toilet. I flush, slumping over onto the vanity next to me in defeat. I feel more than gross, and I’m starting to regret having anything to drink at all.
“YoU alR..ght tHEre fr..eNd?” Stevie asks, appearing over me at the bathroom doorway.
I look up at him, well, one of him. There’s like three Stevie’s in front of me. I struggle to talk, already feeling my stomach moving again.
“YeAh, i’M oKa….y… nE… a sh-sh-.”
Stevie helps me up, and hands me a towel.
“I tHinK we’vvve hAd enOUGh foR One n-...” Stevie stops, and I stumble out of the way as he rushes outside to puke. I wipe my face with my shirt, before turning the shower on. I strip down, and climb in, letting the warm water hit me. Tonight was the first time I’d gotten drunk since high school, and I have to say it’s worse than I remember.
Much worse.
I don’t remember it being so taxing. Maybe alcohol is just not a strong suit of mine.
As I continue to wash off though, I’m left to think on my own for the first time tonight. The high begins to die down, as I'm left feeling gross and sick to my stomach. All I can do is think. Think about this morning, and what Mom had said. I think
about the state of Pigeonburg, and how it’s gone to crap. Tonight has only reminded me of what life used to be like. It was a temporary escape, but now it’s over. I’m left alone.
Just like college.
Upon drying off, and throwing my pj’s on, I walk into the living room where Stevie has already cleaned himself up. He’s still a bit woozy, but slowly sobering up.
“Just like ‘ole times ay Blake?” he asks, laughing.
I nod but can’t say anything. That numb feeling has returned.
We both clean up, and eventually settle in for the night. Stevie has crawled up into his little loft above the two front seats, and I have taken my spot on the couch. Stevie offered me the room in the back, but honestly, I thought it smelled funny. The green loveseat is cramped, but it works.
As the minutes on the clock tick by, I struggle to get myself to sleep. I don’t hear Stevie snoring.
“You still awake man?”
“Go ahead homie.” Stevie mumbles.
I take a long, silent deep breath, pondering how exactly to ask what I need to ask.
“Stevie, do you think I’m a failure?”
I hear a nervous chuckle, "Geez... I didn’t think we were gettin’ philoso’fical tonight.”
“I’m serious Stevie.”
There is silence for a moment.
“I think Blake, you are a flawed individual. Heck we all are. But just because things don’t work out one way, doesn’t mean they won’t ever improve in another. Does that make sense?”
I sit up, looking up at the loft. Stevie's looking down on me. He watches my face sink; my features melting away. Seeing his reassuring face, eats at the numb pit in my stomach. I feel a surge of emotions.
“Stevie, I can't seem to do anything right. I mean, I had the hardest time making friends in college, and so I was left on my own. I spent so much time, so many hours working on classes, but never being able to figure out what to apply it to. After a certain point, the work piled up to a point of no return, and eventually I stopped going to classes all together. I stopped eating as much. I lost all motivation to do anything. Then a literal murder cult tried to kill me. I ran away home, just to see that everything had changed. Nothing feels like when I was a kid, and I hate it Stevie. Tia hates me now, my parents are disappointed in me, and now I'm stuck in some stupid dirt race to save my life. Stevie, everything has changed, and I hate it. I hate it so much!”
I fall to my knees, as my tears can’t subside anymore. I begin crying fountains out of my eyes. All that pent up emotion had finally vented itself out, leaving me a deflated mess.
I’m not sure how long it was, before Stevie dropped down to me, putting an arm on my shoulder.
“I think Blake, you screwed up.”
I feel a sharp pain hit my gut, as I look up at Stevie. “Huh?!”
“Now now, hold on. Lemme explain.”
I look back down in defeat, letting him continue.
“I can understand why you struggled in college. Heck, why do you think I didn’t go? Four extra years of school isn’t for everyone, especially a guy like me. But going that long without reaching out for some help?! C'mon, that was kinda dumb."
Stevie’s tone hasn’t been harsh, but it also hasn’t been reassuring. Just a blank honesty. He sits down in front of me. I don’t look at him, only sitting there soaking in his words.
“Sometimes life’ll throw a curveball right in the nards, and I mean like a real nasty one, just to shake things up. Yes, you ran away from a cult and got forced into some world-ending tournament contest thingy, and yes things are different around here, but that’s no reason to get to feelin' glum over it. All you can do is get up, dust yourself off, ice that now bruised nether region of yours, and try a little harder the next day. Just take life one day at a time. I mean today isn't yesterday, so that means it's gotta be a little better right? You can’t go back to the past, but you can change the future."
Stevie’s voice had turned sincere, his words filling me with a sense of comfort. I look up at him, and he cracks another smile. He pulls me onto my feet with him and brushes off my shoulder.
“You gotta find what makes you happy y’know? Even in the worst situations you gotta stay positive.”
I let out a chuckle, “Sheesh I don’t even know where to start.”
“Well, what’s one thing from way back when that you wouldn’t mind doing again? Other than partyin’ with yours truly of course.”
I ponder the question, my mind boggles with what to answer with. Deep down though, I have an answer. One I seem to awkwardly sputter as I scratch the back of my head.
“Probably hanging out with Tia if I’m being honest.”
“Hmm… I don’t know about that one chief,” Stevie says perplexed, “She’s awfully busy.”
He rubs the scraggly facial hair on his chin, “Anything else you wanna do?”
I feel myself pondering. I think about everything that’s bothering me right now. At the moment, there’s really only one thing I can think of. The more I think about this thing, the angrier I start to get.
“You know, wiping that smug grin off of Mitch’s face would be really fun.”
Stevie’s face lights up.
“Yes! I like that! That sounds fun, like really fun.”
I feel myself getting hyped. “You know what?! Screw Mitch and his stupid little magic cult!”
“Yes!” Stevie shouts manically, pumping his fist. “We are gonna win this Blake, and we are gonna show those DND wizards that they’re screwin’ with the wrong town!”
As me and Stevie high five, adrenaline fills me. For the first time in a minute, I feel optimistic. Optimistic enough that tomorrow will be better than yesterday. This gleeful feeling follows us as we eventually get to sleep.
* * *
I didn’t sleep well. Maybe it was the couch, or my pinball machine of a mind, but I feel like my sleeping habits are slowly diminishing. Nothing I know how to fix though. I take a sip of coffee as me and Stevie discuss how we’re going to tackle this race.
"Halloween, that's what, a week from now right?" I ask before taking a sip of coffee. My head is pounding. Amidst my partying last night, I had forgotten the worst part about drinking-
Hangovers.
I woke up with my eyes dried up, and a really bad headache. It was at that moment that I realized something.
I’m never drinking again.
"This coffee tastes like shit by the way."
"Yessir, that gives us plenty of time to prepare.” Stevie says, answering my question, “We are going to win this race, and I know exactly how. Also, shut up your taste buds’re broken."
I roll my eyes, taking another sip as Stevie pulls out his phone, and starts opening up something.
"Any who, it's because I know about what we'll be up against."
Stevie then hands me his phone. I scroll through the pictures of what looks to be Mitch's ride. His sleek, expensive, lime green Lamborghini with a thin red stripe running across the side. I recognize it from college. Mitch would always joy ride it around campus, blaring loud music as he flaunts his wealth (and poor taste in music) around.
"I took these the night your little cult friend threw me out of Sparky's. Blake, I think there’s only one vehicle I know of that can rival this thing, which is why I challenged Mitch to a race."
My eyes widen with excitement as I immediately realize what Stevie’s talking about.
"Comby?!"
"Comby." he replies bluntly.
Me and Stevie bolt out of the mobile home. His Dad has an old workshop/shed just outside his log cabin, to the right of the RV.
It’s a large shed, with an awning in front. Large enough for Stevie to put it here. As we reach the front, Stevie reaches down, pulling the large garage door open. The loud rickety metal clanks against the building as we see it. Stevie's pet project he'd worked on in high school-
Comby!
It’s an old rail buggy named "Comby" (pronounced "Comb-E"), built for (former) Pigeonburg Speedway races.
I frown though. Comby looks…
The buggy is in pretty rough shape. All four tires are missing air, and the once clean, matte blue body is now faded, dirty, and torn apart. Trash emanates from every part of the poor decrepit vehicle, plus the engine looks pretty busted up.
Comby looks like shit.
"Poor Comby…" I mumble. He looks nothing like his former self. Stevie walks around, slowly looking at the decrepit buggy.
"Do you think it's fixable?" I ask worried.
Stevie rubs his chin, pondering my question.
"It's going to take a lot of effort. I mean, you can see the glaring issues- It's in need of a clean-up, a tune-up, and the tires need air." Stevie turns his attention to the back where the engine appears to be pretty busted up. He reaches inside the buggy and tries to crank it. Nothing. Just an unsatisfying click.
“Yep, starter is messed up too.” he says out loud as if he were making a mental note to himself.
How am I going to have a chance against the Cloaks with this thing? I look at Stevie, who seems stuck in thought.
"Stevie, how am I going to have a chance against the Cloaks with this thing?" I look at Stevie, who's still focused on the buggy.
Stevie rubs his eyes, before guiding his hands through his mullet. "If we order ourselves the right parts, and get this thing cleaned up, we might have a chance. Comby was the only buggy to clock in a ten second half mile run time at the Pigeonburg Speedway. Provided we get my baby fixed, and those damn Cloaks don't screw up the track, we should be in good shape. Plus, I’ve got an idea that could help give us an edge. I've got some money in savings we can use to buy the pa-..."
"Woah, woah Stevie what?!” I cut him off, holding my hands up defensively, “That's your money, you shouldn't spend it to help me."
He shakes his head, "Nah It was just money I had saved up for a trip to Mexico. I've been meaning to fix Comby though, so it's a worthy sacrifice I’m willing to make!" As he finishes this, Stevie’s phone buzzes.
"Stevie, you're too nice to me man. I am in debt to you,” I say, patting Stevie on the shoulder.
"You're gonna pay my debt back by leavin them Cloaks to choke on Comby's dust!"
“Yeah!" Blissful optimism takes over, "The next few weeks are gonna be great! We'll work on fixing the buggy, and in the meantime, we can hang out! We got this." I clap my hands together, ready to get started. I feel better. A lot better than last night. My anxieties seem to have subsided for right now, as I’m ready to focus on the task at hand. I feel like I'm slowly, but surely, I’m getting my life back together.
Stevie responds, still looking at his phone, "Yeah bro! We'll definitely hang out alot mo- Holy crap!"
He looks at me with a sudden face of surprise, "Blake I got a date!"
"Woah! With who?!" I ask intrigued.
"Only the hottest girl we went to school with! One Ms. Austie Cheryl!"
I shake my head, "Holy crap I remember her!” I shout, immediately thinking back. She was our class valedictorian, and an all-around popular girl. Practically everyone knew her back then. She always seemed nice too, which is a plus.
“You lucky, lucky man. How do you do it?" I ask Stevie excitedly.
Stevie smirks, "Blake I unfortunately can't tell you that information. Due to my actions, I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement." He playfully brushes off his shoulder, acting cool.
His coolness dissipates quickly though, as he lets out pitiful: “Oh wait…”
My eyes perk up, “Hm?”
"See, err… This is one of those dates where I can't really have guests over if ya catch my drift." he says, tilting his head forward in emphasis.
"Oh… Ooooh!" I look away as I realize if he does this date, I'll probably need to find somewhere else to stay tonight.
He shakes his head, "I think I'll just cancel it Blake. Besides, I've got more important things to do right?"
I shake my head, "No Stevie you can't! You gotta go on this date dude."
"You're right Blake, it's just, -... wait!” a smile comes across his face.
“I may have an idea, stay here for a second."
Stevie bolts outside and slams the garage door shut. I hear him calling someone on his phone.
"Hey! How are ya?… No, I'm good too, but I do have a favor to ask of ya."
His voice gets quieter. I can’t tell who he's talking to, but If I listen closely, I can hear the voice yelling. Both Stevie and the voice on the phone seem to be arguing.
"C’mon ple… may…..be I dow…. Holy…ank you! … -ring him over later, bye!"
Stevie walks out, a huge smile across his face, "Alright! I have found you a play to stay.”
My eyes perk up, as I shove my hands in my pocket.
"Oh cool! I'll go pack my bags. Where am I staying?"
“One of my good buddies! Her name’s Tia.”