Donald woke on his belly in the darkness of the cave where he had crawled to die. He’d pulled his shirt off in his sleep, and the embedded grit stung his skin all over. He was sick. The infection in his burnt scalp was spreading. He’d been hallucinating since at least the day before. Some of the fantastic creatures he’d talked with might exist, but others had extra dimensions.
He tried to do a pushup to sit up, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. Ragged breathing drew his gaze to a shadow that hovered over him, and as his eyes began to adjust, a slimy, hairless humanoid emerged from the darkness.
The creature was hideous, but it was clear that, before the apocalypse, it had been a remarkably attractive man. Like, dangerously hot. Just wow. His nose was kind of big, but so are other hot guys’ noses. Like, for instance, there’s you know what never mind. It tapped a talon against the stony earth. Donald tried another pushup, and managed to drag his knees under his body.
Three ninjas burst in in a flurry of spinning limps, then snapped into their fighting stances. They were mutants, and the eyes that peeked out of their hoods were covered in tumors. The slimy creature knocked all three out with one jump kick, then scampered grinning back to where Donald clapped enthusiastically. It had been really just amazing.
The creature opened its mouth to speak, revealing long, handsome fangs, then closed it and frowned. It held up its finger, then put it down. It grinned again and spoke.
I’m magic in every believable way.
I’m a wizard and maybe an elf.
I write anti-fan fiction, am not Mary Sue.
But I frequently Googled myself.
Donald could not stop clapping.
“Wow!” he said. “What skill! I assume that, before the apocalypse, you were as rich as you were handsome, as everyone so skilled is rewarded with wealth.”
Don’t be a shit,
you fucking twit!
Wait, I can do better, excuse me, ahem.
Forget that short rhyme while I spit out this phlegm.
Its glob landed on Donald’s knee. Donald didn’t mind. Dangerously hot people were known to spit globs. He was flattered even. The creature continued.
I was raised by the system, thus doomed to be poor,
But I’m rad and most everyone’s known, sir.
My blood mother credits her half of my genes,
Which her whole family history loans her.
Seven ninjas this time, angry about their brothers. Seven roundhouse kicks in a pirouette, and the new ninjas joined the pile.
One of the first three was alive and moaning. The creature pulled off the ninja’s hood, flashed its fangs, and bit a tumor from its neck. The ninja twitched and then stopped moaning, and the creature spit out the tumor. Purple blood poured out of its mouth and covered its chin. Again, it scampered grinning back to Donald and crouched beside him.
There’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.
Will you please help me lift up this boulder?
I know you’re quite weak, but I’ll kneel by your side.
It just has to go on my shoulder.
Donald was freaked out, but the creature was charismatic and offering his hand. Though it hurt his legs to stand, he helped the creature lift the boulder.
“May I lay back down?” asked Donald, panting.
I may say that you may,
But just trust that you must.
Donald fell to his belly and crossed his arms under his forehead. He shouldn’t have helped. He thought he might die from the exertion. With the boulder raised above its head, the creature launched into its next verse, which it recited with more polish than the others—he’d been rehearsing it for awhile.
Now I’m sure that you know that you’ve stunk up this cave,
But you’ve now learned that somebody owns it.
It might not be cleansed, and it might not be saved,
But I’ll spray Lemon Pledge where your bones sit.
It slammed the boulder on Donald’s head, screaming,
You spoiled and destroyed my home!
Donald’s head popped. Gore sprayed. The creature still needed to finish its couplet, so it lifted the boulder again—it seemed very light—and slammed it into the pulp of Donald Dasney.
You spoiled and destroyed my home!