Lord of the Shoes (Chapter III added)

[Funk]

OK, since I probably will not have time to create as complex of a RPG Maker game as I would like until I retire from working life, I have decided to concentrate on writing just the story to 'Lord of the Shoes' instead. Feel free to read or not read the story. If you find a glaring spelling or grammatical error you can point it out and laugh at my inadequacies. Or if you notice something that just doesn't make sense I would appreciate it if you brought it to light, as well. I'm not really sure what I'm trying to do with this story for the time being other than just have fun writing it.

LORD OF THE SHOES

Introduction

Two Shoes to rule them all,
Two Shoes to find them,
Two Shoes to bring them all
And with shoelaces bind them

Prologue: Concerning Midgets

This story is largely concerned with midgets. The word midget itself dates back to the middle of the nineteenth century. It was used to describe any person that was noticeably small in height. By the beginning of the twenty-first century it had been labeled as derogatory in large part due to the spread of political correctness. Dwarf (stemming from the condition known as dwarfism) or especially little person (stemming from the fact that the person was little in comparison to most) became accepted as politically correct terms for the condition. The word midget was still in wide use, however, especially at places where little people could be exploited for profit. Such places included certain bars, wrestling rings, and circuses. And the term was still widely known to the general public.

This is a story of four midgets. Although it is politically incorrect to describe them by that word, it was a word always used to describe shorter people amongst themselves, their ancestors, and their peers. They had been born and raised at a circus and were part of long-line of midget performers that had perfected their particular craft. The midgets felt the circus was as essential to their lives as the blood flowing through their veins.

And then, disaster struck. It was not a run-of-the-mill disaster, either; it was the largest circus disaster in human history, of which the four midgets were the only survivors. The loss of the circus was like losing a part of themselves: it was, after all, the total means of their livelihood. After several years of preparation (and several years to the let the pubic forget it fear of being blown up in a tent), the midgets had managed to establish a new traveling carnival of their own. Only now they were its ringleaders and decision-makers instead of just another one of its spectacles. Luckily, one of the midgets was a mechanical genius with innovation on his side, because it was going to take more than just four midgets to run a whole circus.

Chapter I: The Long-Expected Carnival

The clown walked down the midway of the carnival; each step it took was exactly identical to the last. Optical sensors fashioned as its eyes gathered millions upon millions of images from the landscape. Amongst the grayscale pictures the clown registered thirty-seven guests: twenty-one female and thirteen male. As the clown saw it, there were twenty-nine upward and positive parabolas amongst their faces. This information was quickly dumped from its memory into a database: these humans were happy and required no assistance. Four nanoseconds passed...suddenly all running processes in the clown’s CPU were interrupted. Its audio receptors had matched a cached sound; a child was crying. The clown's left hand instantly gripped a green balloon in the shape of a giraffe that had been carried in its right hand. It proceeded towards the child with its unnaturally large smile airbrushed across its face. When the clown reached the child, it bent over with several whirring and grinding noises that were inaudible to human ears and presented the balloon to the small girl. The frown upon the girl’s face predictably converted into a condition-satisfying, positive parabola. New information was logged into a file, and the clown scanned its right hand. No balloons were found and a flag was raised. The clown clumsily turned away from the girl and proceeded back down the midway methodically adjusting for any humans that happened to be occupying its intended path.

Just outside of the western fence of the carnival was a tiny silver-colored trailer bathed in the reddish-orange light of the sinking sun. The interior of the trailer was remodeled so that it vaguely resembled an office room. Within, Calvin Canius sat uneasily and swiveled slightly back and forth in his undersized desk chair. He had four small oscillating fans focused upon him yet he was still drenched in sweat, despite it being unusually mild for a mid-August evening. A fly landed on his moist brow: this caused him to give out a peculiar little squeak and made him shift awkwardly in his chair. The fly evacuated its perch and began searching for new haunts. Calvin moaned and began to shake over his entire body. When five knocks in even intervals landed upon his trailer door Calvin jumped from his seat and dove under the desk.

“W-w-who is- it?” he managed to get out.

“Model CR-7, sir. Error #12,” said a monotone voice on the other side of the door.

“Just a second! I’ll get you more b-balloons.” Calvin crawled inelegantly from beneath the desk and retrieved a set of multicolored balloons of various shapes and sizes from the corner of the office. He moved to the door, and checked the peephole: the colorful midsection of a clown was distorted in the glass. Calvin unlocked the door and slowly inched it open. The clown towered a good two and a half feet over him. He let the balloons glide to the ground in front of the clown and it clenched them into its right hand without hesitation. The clown returned to duty. Calvin slammed the door behind it, took in a mouthful of air, and let the breath escape before it did much good. He sank sluggishly to the floor and stared blankly into space at the foot of the door.

Just north of Cal’s trailer was a yellow tent adorned with pink and yellow pennants. From beneath its main flap emerged a woman that stood just over four feet tall. Here name was Navina Keller, but she preferred the name “Navi”. She smiled at the beauty of the sunset, and then turned her eyes to the south. When she spotted the clown departing the vicinity of Cal’s trailer door, she swiftly sidestepped into the shadow of a large oak tree and hid there until she was certain that it had passed. Navina had never liked the monstrous machines. “Damn that Cal!” she thought. “Why did he have to program those stupid things to greet me whenever they see me?” Cal had done this in an attempt to create a friendly relationship between Navina and the clowns, but it was impossible for Navina to accept salutations from something she knew was cold and incapable of emotions. She would never accept the clowns as they were, and she would never trust them. Navina had told this to Calvin countless times, but Calvin had dismissed it as a needless worry every time. According to him, the clowns had a set of duties that they could perform and nothing else. They would automatically shut down if they stepped outside of their logic. There was no possible way that the clowns could ever hurt anybody. Navina had decided to never bring up the subject of the clowns again. It was a hopeless cause and she knew it.

Navina had other business as she approached the door to Cal’s trailer. She knocked softly on the door, but this did not prevent the sound she was meaning to avoid: the sound of Cal’s head thumping into his desk. Navina heard him let out a small “oomph!” and she sighed.

“Are you OK, Cal?”

“N-Navina? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Cal, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Just a s-second!” he bellowed. Navina heard the sound of a deadbolt being unfastened and tapped her foot as she waited for Cal to finish looking through the peephole (“Whoever heard of a deadbolt and a peephole on a trailer door, anyway?” she thought). A short time later Cal had finished tending to the door and timidly pulled it ajar.

“Well, you’re not looking so hot,” Navina verbally noticed. Any person would agree with her: his brownish mullet, besides being terribly outdated, was not even well kempt. His white slacks were covered with the stains of condiments in several places. The “sleeves” of his orange tank top hung as asymmetrical as seemed possible. And he was still shaking as badly as before: in fact, it was a strain on the eyes to keep him in focus.

In stark contrast, Navina looked as though she was not even a part of the circus entourage. She did have a green dress on, but it was very enticing as far as green dresses go. He flaming long red hair reached all the way to her knees and not a single strand was out of place. The failing sun seemed to dance upon it in all of the right places. Navina was an expert make-up applier: she had done the make-up for the whole circus troop before the tragedy. Although she was masterfully skilled at exaggerating facial features, Navina could also use subtlety to accentuate. It was impossible to tell that she was now wearing make-up herself, but she had taken her already pretty face and made it even more beautiful with little touches here and there. In the past, Cal would have complimented on this before inviting Navina in. Instead, he said, “What d-do you w-want, Navi?” while he started diagonally at nothing on the floor.

Cal had intended not to answer the door at all to any more visitors, but he was certain that he had given away his presence when he knocked his head into his desk. He rubbed his head as he made room for Navi to enter the trailer. She remained standing while he went back to swiveling in his chair. He knew why she was here, and he really wished she would just leave him alone about it. To his complete surprise, however, she did not bring up the subject of the clowns at once. Instead, she started:

“Cal, I’m worry about you. You’ve changed a lot in the last couple of weeks. I’ve notice that you aren’t eating at much, and what you are eating is complete garbage. Hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for Christ’s sake! What the hell? Not that that really matters: most of it didn’t seem to make your mouth, I see. And have you been getting enough sleep? Of course not: I can see it in your eyes. They’re red and the bags are atrocious. I’m going to have to cover those up before you take to center stage: you’d be able to see them from the back row. And would it kill you to get a mirror in here? Maybe then you would notice some of these things that even a slob would look down upon. Enough about what the outside world would think about you. If you don’t settle down you’re going to have a nervous breakdown. That’s not the Cal that I used to know: cool as the other side of the pillow with not a care in the world.” The following she added spontaneously on a gut feeling: “Oh, and I’m not going to bring up the robots anymore so that’s one less thing you have to worry about.”

This was one of Navi’s rants, although she preferred the term “lecture”. It was presented here with white space and punctuation; in actuality, she chattered so rapidly during them that a layperson would never have been able to tell where one word or sentence began or ended. Only Cal and the other midgets had had the proper practice to ingest these marathons of speech ran at a sprinter’s pace. Although Navi’s rants sounded like nagging, she always had the best of intentions in mind while spouting them. It was in Cal’s best interest as a business owner to at least look the part. And, of course, nerves are always better when kept in check. All of these points, however, were buried beneath the impact of Navi’s last statement.

“You’re really not going to mention the clowns again?” It was the first time all day that Cal had said something without stuttering any of the words.

“Not a word, if it helps. But now that I’ve done something for you, I want you to do something for me. Don’t roll your eyes at me like that. It’s a simple request: go outside and relax. There are still two hours until the show starts, and everything is going fine. We are more than ready for anything. I want you to go out and do something. In fact, you know what? Go fish. You haven’t done it in weeks and you used to go almost every day. It would make both you and me feel a whole lot better. I know it.” This wasn’t a rant. It was a slow, heart-felt speech with each word accented perfectly for maximum effect. If Navi had one talent greater than cosmetics, it would be as a wordsmith. She always knew what to say to persuade her audience. In fact, the robot situation was the only instance in Navi’s recent memory in which she had not gotten her way. If the general public was more accepting of those different than the “norm”, Navi could have been a great politician, perhaps even the President of the United States. Of course, that would entail lying, to which Navi was strongly opposed.

“All right,” Cal conceded. “I’ll go fishing.”

“Thank you,” Navi said. She kissed Cal on the cheek, causing him to blush and instantly grow calmer. A dazed look overtook his eyes and he vacated the trailer without another word. Navi moved to the corner of the office and captured the fly out of midair without effort. She moved to the window and shooed it outside; its buzzing had been bugging her since she had first come inside.

Next installment: Chapter II: The Shadow in the Lake

[IRC]

Re: Lord of the Shoes - A Story

No offense Funk but I think LotS looses alot by not having visuals.

[Funk]

Re: Lord of the Shoes - A Story

I could always pepper the text with images.

I did have this map of the circus lying around:

[Nixon]

Re: Lord of the Shoes - A Story

Cute and weird- a winning combination.

[Funk]

Re: Lord of the Shoes - A Story

Thanks, Nixon!

The cutest gets a little less, I'm afraid, later on in the story. The weirdness goes through the roof, however.

OK, I finished Chapter Two and made SLIGHT changes to the first chapter.

Chapter II: The Shadow in the Lake

Cal’s trailer and all of the tents outside of the carnival were collectively known as the “The Village” amongst the midgets. A sparse forest stretched along the northern fringes of The Village, and here Philip Anjis stood on a wooden apple crate in the shade of a willow tree. He carefully screwed the neck panel back onto one of the clowns. He pulled the lace collar back up to conceal the hinge underneath. Perfect, absolutely perfect, he thought as a small remote emerged from a pocket of his purple jeans. With a single click the clown was brought back to life and left Philip to continue with its tasks. It was a dawning of a new age in human technological development, and he had to keep it a secret. Philip sighed, straightened himself momentary, relaxed, and then pondered a possible solution to an algorithm before realizing that it would result in an undefined answer. He rubbed his eyes; he had not been getting much sleep lately.

At that moment Philip saw Cal emerge from his trailer that was some distance to the east. Philip and Cal had been the best of friends for the whole of their lives even though they were quite different. Cal had always been the more laid back of the two, while Philip had begun working diligently to absorb as much knowledge as possible at an early age. It was a symbiotic relationship: when it was apparent that Philip was working too hard, Cal would show up and convince Philip to join him in goofing off. In turn, Philip would push Cal to unleash some of his hidden potential. It was Philip that discovered that Cal was a capable leader and could gather people to his cause when the need arose. Philip himself was socially inept, but Cal seemed to get along with everyone. He had no problem leaving the management duties of the circus to Cal, and would not have accepted them if asked.

Philip started to gather his tools. Each tool had a proper place in his toolbox (which contained as many computer parts and other odds and ends as it did common tools) and Philip would not be happy until each one was occupying its designated spot.

After several minutes of perfecting his workplace, he noticed Navi coming out of Cal’s office with her unmistakable red hair trailing behind her. Philip scoffed; he really did like Navi, but lately she had been infuriating him with her nonchalant attitude towards his creations. He did not labor meticulously (anally, as Navi had called it of late) twenty hours a day to have his children ridiculed on false pretenses. If she did not trust the robots, then in turn she did not trust him and his genius. And Philip Anjis was not the person to have his intelligence brought into question. In his mind (And what it mind it is!) all humanity is driven by its intelligence alone. It was intelligence that distanced humans from animals and allowed them to grow into the dominant species on the planet. Without intelligence we would be out back eating feces with the dogs.

The next obvious step for humanity would be to create its own life forms. Such a divine act would completely sever our species from the darkness of its past. The Created would become the Creator, and life would come full circle. Philip had devoted the majority of his studies to the area of robotics, and now at the age of thirty-three he had achieved more in this technological field than anyone on Earth. His robotic clowns were indistinguishable from real clowns, but he had to keep his discovery hidden. He could not leave his friends behind at the circus to join a science lab. Most of all, he was not certain that the world could get past his physical appearance. I’m a small person with a huge brain, Philip thought: the world is just not ready yet. Besides, the circus was a good front to continue and perfect his research; there were slim chances that his work could be stolen. The one thing that Philip Anjis hated more than anything was someone else using his brain.

Philip produced a hairbrush from his toolbox and pulled it through his long greasy black hair. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed with serendipity. “I have to square the factor of the divisor. That should do it.” He chuckled to himself knowingly and placed the hairbrush in the appropriate section of the toolbox. He closed it tightly, hoisted it up, and made his way to his vibrantly purple tent to await the arrival of another clown in need of service.

Within sight of the maintenance shed and at the western edge of The Village stood the animal holding pen with six colorful animal wagons lined along its fence. The sounds of lions roaring, horses neighing, and elephants trumpeting could be heard all the way to the midway. It caused excitement to build in those that would be attending the main event at the big top later that evening.

The fourth midget of the circus entourage was leaning lazily against the gate of the pen. His stringy reddish-brown hair was swaying slightly in the gentle breeze and his deep dark eyes were set motionlessly on the animals. He took a drag from his cigarette, and noticing that it had reached the filter, took it between his fingers. He looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching him. No one was. He then flicked the butt towards one of the horses. It exploded in a shower of glowing sparks as it made contact with the rear of the animal. The horse made a terrible whinnying noise and galloped briskly to the other side of the enclosure. The midget let loose a guttural and slightly disturbing chortle.

Matthew “Meta” Tarsle hated all of these vile creatures. He hated having to clean up their ****. He hated that he had drawn the short straw in the game of life. He hated that he was barred from the thrill rides that ten-year-old crybabies could ride. He hated those that were not as cursed as he felt. He hated, period, and there was very little in life that brought him any joy. The story of Jack and the Beanstalk was one such thing. He had read it hundreds of times, and vocally cheered every time that the giant fell to his doom. Another story that he was quite fond of was David and Goliath, although he would never touch any other part of the Bible.

While Cal, Navi, and Phillip lived in tents that were bunched rather close together, Meta chose to erect his tent to the south of the animal holding pen, which was a good distance from the others. They had tried in vain to convince Meta to move his tent up by Cal’s trailer, but Meta had told them all to go away (in a less than polite manner). Meta’s tent was jet black (very grim in comparison to the intensely-colorful living quarters of Navi and Phillip), and he had hacked all of vegetation around it to bits, leaving his property a veritable wasteland. His habitat was an intimidating scar on the otherwise cheery grounds, and it took courage to approach it. Cal and Phil were always antsy about bringing business down there, but Navi, however, had no qualms about it: she was not the least bit impressed by Meta’s attempt to isolate himself.

Navi, Meta thought. Heh. He spit onto the ground as if he felt the need to act macho all of a sudden. He had many thoughts about Navi, and none would be considered thoughtful or pleasant. They were thoughts of conquest as if Navi was nothing more than one of the animals that had escaped and needed to be returned to captivity in his pen. But Meta had never acted upon these impulses before: even he was afraid of the consequences.

For Meta’s greatest (and only) fear was being expelled from the circus. He was deathly afraid of the Giant’s world that he totally resented. It was this fear that made him double-check his abuse of the animals. The other midgets were a bunch of goody-goodies and would probably kick him out if they caught him in the act. They had asked about the burn marks and the bruises before, but Meta had convinced them that some of the animals were rather wild and needed excess force to keep them in line. They had bought it hook-line-sinker, mainly because they were too busy to investigate it further.

Meta, guessing that the other midgets had to be extremely preoccupied with the upcoming show, gazed out into the pen and began searching amongst the beasts for his next victim.

The lake near the circus was just on the other side of the forest from The Village. It was a small lake, but it offered a good variety of fish and the bass were sporty and challenging. The sun was flirting with the horizon by the time Cal had prepared himself and made it to onto the rickety wooden dock that extended a good ways over the lake. The water itself looked as though it was afire as the sunset reflected upon it.

Cal’s fishing pole and tackle were simple but effective. He did not need state-of-the-art equipment to land a trophy bass, and his trailer walls were lined with them: the largest weighing in at twelve pounds.

At the edge of the dock, Cal gently placed his rod and tackle box aside and sat down. His legs dangled stiffly over the water. He was a little more relaxed, but still quite tense. The thought of legality, standards, and figures still danced through his head while the water danced merrily and red beneath his feet. It was an evening that many would consider perfect for fishing, but Cal was unable to make this observation.

Cal baited the rod and cast it far into the lake. He tried to whistle (as was his custom) but found his lips were too dry for it. His bobber bobbed while his head throbbed. The faces of clowns floated in his mind. He began calculating costs and profits. Cal wondered if any of the carnies would be arrested this time around. Thought after thought after thought clouded his senses, and he failed to notice when the lake grew dark with shadow and the smell of fish flooded into his nostrils. Then, the surface of the lake shattered as if it were glass and the droplets of water that hung in the air were a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows and white. Cal snapped out of his funk, and his eyes grew large in their sockets. Time stood still as if this was the only moment ever lived.

There amid the most beautiful splash ever seen by human eyes was a fish, but as far as fish go it defied all logic and reason. It was most definitely a bass, but it dwarfed any record-setting bass a hundred times over. The fish eclipsed the sun, and Cal was drenched in darkness.

Then, as if by some cruel and nasty joke, time decided to move forward again and the lumbering shape of the fish began falling rapidly towards Cal. He was stunned with disbelief for a dangerously long time, but eventually his legs started before his brain had time to catch up. He turned around; his eyes became fixated on the shore at the other end of the dock as his legs worked as fast as they could. After a few strained but useful strides he heard the horrifying sound of lumber being torn asunder from behind him. He yelped as the splinters of wood cut into the back of his neck and head. The dock gave out underneath him and Cal was airborne. Then, as if nightmares suddenly could come true, he saw a flurry of teeth racing past his eyes and everything became hotter and darker than Cal ever thought possible. Unknown fears of an unconceivable nature overtook him – but Navi was right: fishing had driven the worries of running a circus from Cal’s mind.

Next installment: Chapter Three: Sneakers In The Dark

[Funk]

Re: Lord of the Shoes (Chapter III added)

Chapter III: Sneakers In The Dark

Cal had no control over his body. He could feel wet and slimy surfaces sliding past him, but he had no idea as to how fast the outside world was slipping away. Cal figured he was dead, but if there was a light to the end of this tunnel it was nowhere in sight. He was gripped by an uncontrollable panic but could do nothing to ease it. The heat was suffocating and the pain excruciating. Just when it seemed that this would go on forever, the slimy wetness faded away and a new and more terrifying sensation overcame him: he was falling.

Cal fell and fell; his screams were lost to the total darkness. Time and time again he felt certain that the hard surface that would be his demise must be only seconds away, but it never came. Instead, he was eventually caught by a rubbery-feeling surface that absorbed much of the impact of the fall. He bounced into the air several times and then came to a rest on his bottom: it felt as if he was bobbing up and down gently on a firm Jell-O mold. The darkness continued to persist and his head badly hurt. He felt for his neck and his hand came away sticky with blood.

“Well, I think I’m alive,” Cal said aloud. There was no echo, but Cal sensed that the room (if it could be called that) was rather large. He had no idea what to do. Then, as if it did not seem like a stupid idea at the time, he called out into the darkness. “Hello?” he shouted. “Is there anybody home?”

There was an instantaneous reaction. Two very dim specks of light (they were enough to blind Cal’s disoriented eyes) appeared some distance away. As his eyes grew more accustomed to this welcome sight, Cal could tell that whatever was creating the light was getting closer and closer. Soon they were before him, but whatever they were was beyond Cal’s knowledge. Phillip would have recognized them at once, but he would not have believed it. Both of them were a good deal larger than Cal. They exhausted phosphorescent light and were entirely transparent. Bags that looked as though they were liquid-filled scooted here and there throughout their “bodies”. They were irregularly shaped, and the only indication of their actual shape was a thin silvery outline. Many singular “hairs” protruded from the outline of their bodies. They had neither faces nor limbs; they were not humanoid at all. But then the most unexpected thing of all happened: a voice filled the void.

“Do not move, Calvin Canius, for you are in extreme danger.”

Cal did not move; he was frozen to the spot. Telepathy was a concept altogether unfamiliar to him, so he had no idea where that voice had come from. By his logic: speech came from mouths, and as his was the only obvious mouth amongst that trio, Calvin figured he must have given himself some sound advice without realizing it.

“You fool, Calvin Canius,” the voice began again. “It is I, Bacchy, that is transcribing my thoughts amongst yours. Your consciousness is now my consciousness. Heed my word: stand with extreme caution. Await the arrival of Teria at your feet.”

Cal sat bobbing for several moments but finally did as he was instructed. This proved to be rather difficult: it felt as though there was hardly a ground under Cal’s feet at all. After nearly toppling over numerous times, he managed to find his footing on the unstable floor. He stood wobbling side to side and back and forth as one of them glided gracefully before his feet; its “hairs” were a fury of motion as it moved. Then, The voice that Cal had finally accepted as the other thing spoke again.

“Now, Calvin Canius, step forward onto Teria and we shall be off.”

“You want me to step onto that?” he exclaimed.

“Fear not: she will hold you steadfast as we go,” it replied.

“Go? Go where?”

“To the Shrine of Mercurius.”

This name meant nothing to Cal, but he had acknowledged the names “Baccy” and “Teria”, and figured that the voice was that of a male, while the thing he was meant to step onto was female. After short time he decided that he had better follow this second command from Baccy (really having no other choice). His raised his left foot and hovered it above Teria. After gathering enough courage he dropped his bare foot onto her. To his horror he saw his foot plunge right into her body and he felt a tingling coldness in his toes. This startled him so much that he attempted to pull his foot out again but could not: his foot was stuck inside her. He brought both of his hands forward and grabbed hold of his captive foot, but his hands too became prisoner. Now only Cal’s right foot was free, and without warning Teria began to float away from the ground, leaving his remaining appendage dangling freely in the air. This was extremely uncomfortable and he had just enough strength to pull his foot up and force it into Teria’s body. She accelerated unexpectedly and this snapped Cal’s head back quite hard: it left him dizzy for several seconds. Baccy began to follow closely behind them.

It was several minutes before Cal overcame the initial shock of his peculiar riding position and eventually he had time to begin gathering in his surroundings. In the very dim light he managed to just see the surface of what looked like a slightly green bubbling liquid some ways below him. Every once in a while he felt a slight stinging sensation on what little of his skin was exposed. Eventually he vocally shouted “Ow! What is this prickly feeling?”

“Hydrochloric acid,” explained the voice in his head.

“Hydrochloric acid?” Cal repeated. “Bu that’s found in stomachs!” It was a tidbit of knowledge that he had picked up from Phillip.

“It most certainly is,” confirmed the voice. “Have you not figured out where you are?”

Cal grew faint as the truth finally dawned upon him: he was alive in the stomach of the giant fish.

“Hence the danger,” revealed the voice, “one wrong step…”

“And the fish would be dining on fried midget,” Cal finished the dreary thought himself. He nearly vomited at that moment, which would have been rather ironic considering his location. He grew silent in mind and tongue for the remainder of the journey through the stomach.

After a lengthy period a brighter light appeared some ways before Cal, Teria, and Baccy. Cal could not determine what was emitting it, and soon the brightness was so great that he had to clench his eyes shut for fear of going blind. Before long he felt the coldness leaving his digits and he once again fell onto his bottom upon the rubbery unstable ground. In his self-imposed darkness he heard the voice once again:

“Cal, it is safe to open your eyes. Please do so.”

Cal opened his eyes. He expected to see Baccy and Teria hovering in front of him again, but was shocked to see that they were nowhere in sight. Instead there was another pair lying before him: the most magnificent set of sneakers Cal had ever seen. They glowed ever so slightly, and were wrapped in curious patterns of reds, yellows, blacks, and whites. A shining symbol that Cal had never seen was embossed on the outside of each one. The tongues of the shoes were likewise adorned. Even though Cal (and the other midgets) did not wear shoes, these sneakers nearly cried out to be worn. He moved his hands forward to take the shoes. Then Baccy’s voice once again infiltrated Cal’s mind.

“STOP!” it cried. “Do not put us on quite yet! It would be devastating to put us on before leaving the fish!”

“What do you mean ‘do not put us on quite yet’?” Cal inquired, understandably confused.

“There will be ample time to explain everything later,” the voice answered. “For now the shoes must pass from the jaws of the fish unworn.”

Cal did not speak again, but his hands (nearly involuntarily) enclosed around one of the sneakers.

“You fool!” the voice now echoed throughout Cal’s thoughts. “Let me explain the situation in terms you will understand: if you sport those shoes now, you will die.”

But the voice could not dissolve Cal’s desire to place his feet within the glorious sneakers. He slipped on the right shoe first and then the left. Instantaneously he could see the whole of the insides of the stomach as if the sun had somehow penetrated the scales of the fish. Curved walls of peachy flesh arched high above him and as far as his eyes could see the ocean of acid stretched before him. Little “islands” were dotted here and there throughout the green sea, and he figured he must have luckily landed on one of these upon entering the stomach. Cal felt safer now that his environment was now plainly in view.

Seconds later, a most terrifying thing happened: the stomach of the fish began to violently shake and rumble loudly. The shaking was so intense that it was a miracle that Cal did not lose his footing and plunge head first to an acidic death. Then the acid itself began to creep noticeably closer to Cal. He turned and ran, and even on the unstable floor of the stomach he had no trouble distancing himself from the rising green tide. Soon he was able to more firmly assess his situation. It was now that he noticed that the ceiling of the stomach was considerably closer than it once was, and it did not take long for Cal to realize that either he was growing larger, the fish was shrinking, or both. He did not see a way out of this situation, but he did not panic. Then he saw a hole pinched slightly shut in the middle of the ceiling. If only it was much closer I could possibly reach it, he calmly thought to himself. But another thought in the back of his mind convinced him that it might be within reach after all. It was a good fifteen feet away: well out of jumping range of nearly all human beings, let alone a short person like Cal. But something inside Cal cried out to try this insane stunt that would most likely end up being his last. He backed up as far as he possibly could from the acid shore and took off sprinting. The jump itself was incredible: without much effort Cal not only managed to reach the outside of the hole but penetrated it with the whole of his body. For the time being he was suspended between two fishy smelling walls, completely unable to move. Cal waited anxiously.

Meanwhile, an interesting scene was unfolding on what was left of the dock suspended over the lake. Any passerby would have been shocked senseless to see the once majestic fish now flopping to and fro, and with each flop it shrank very noticeably in size. Soon, and even though it could not be seen from outside the fish, the insides of the fish became so compact that it went into a gag reflex because of the lodged midget in its esophagus. Cal, whom was waiting so patiently inside, was now being propelled smoothly through the fish’s innards with a flood of stomach contents close on his heels. He passed between the jaws of the fish (receiving several deep cuts in the process) just seconds before he would have been crushed by the ever-diminishing girth of the fish. He rolled forward onto the dilapidated dock and relaxed on his back. The fish continued to shrink until it eventually stopped at around ten inches: hardly what Cal would call a “keeper”. It flipped itself off of the dock and lived the rest of its life in ignorant bliss.

Cal propped himself up and looked at the shoes on his feet. They were no longer exuding their gentle light, but they still appeared far from ordinary in the encompassing dusk. Even though he was cut and bruised all over, Cal let loose with a hearty laugh. Most people would have found this whole ordeal traumatic, but he had found it rather exhilarating. In the midst of the shattered boards and splinters of his fishing dock, Calvin Canius laughed and laughed. He did not notice the gentle shockwave that started from around him and moved towards the circus.

Next installment: Chapter IV: The Illogical Error

[Nixon]

Re: Lord of the Shoes (Chapter II added)

The cutest gets a little less, I'm afraid, later on in the story. The weirdness goes through the roof, however.

You weren't kidding.

But perhaps that's what keeps it interesting.