The glass of the vending machine was cool against Donnie\u2019s head. He stood like that for a few minutes, eyes half-shut. He considered going to sleep. Dumb, given that his motel room was about ten feet to his right. But the glass of the machine was about as comfortable as the bed in there, so it was give-or-take.<\/p>\n
\u201cBreakfast,\u201d he reminded himself, and focused his eyes on the treats inside the box.<\/p>\n
His bleary gaze scanned over the options. Captain\u2019s Wafer crackers? Probably a good idea given the pulsing hangover that lived in his brain and gut, but the idea of dry carbs just wasn\u2019t doing it for him. Pretzels? Meh. He\u2019d rather eat a handful of sand.<\/p>\n
Wait. Oh yeah, there<\/em> it was. Chocolate.<\/p>\n Damn yeah.<\/p>\n A yellow wrapper caught his attention. Top right corner of the machine.<\/p>\n Flix Bar.<\/em><\/p>\n He\u2019d never had one. Never heard<\/em> of one, actually.<\/p>\n Blinking, he popped his quarters into the slot, and punched the code. The metal coil uncoiled, sending the bar plummeting to the bottom with a bang.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n Donnie watched the farm report \u2013 well, the farm report was on<\/em>, but who really watches the farm report? \u2013 and examined the Flix Bar.<\/p>\n Yellow wrapper, as noted. \u201cFlix Bar\u201d written in blue letters bordered by pink. A little green thing, some kind of alien by the look of it, held up a pair of delighted jazz-hands next to the logo. Big smile, too, on that alien. Purple teeth grinning.<\/p>\n He tore the bar open.<\/p>\n Inside, a dark chocolate brick.<\/p>\n He smelled it. Strong cocoa smell. Or cacao. Or whatever.<\/p>\n Using his front teeth like a rabbit, he bit the end off the candy bar. The taste of honey hit his tongue. Some kind of sweet syrup \u2013 not quite caramel, definitely not nougat \u2013 connected with the roof of his mouth and he had to lick it off.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, man,\u201d he mumbled through the sweetness, \u201cthat\u2019s good.\u201d<\/p>\n The texture was just right, too. Soft chocolate, wet honey-goo, crunchy flake wafer. He picked a gobbet of candy from a back molar, savoring it, then glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed. Donnie had to move a half-empty bottle of tequila and a pair of dirty socks to see it.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, crap.\u201d<\/p>\n He was going to be late for work. Again.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n That didn\u2019t stop him from grabbing two more Flix Bars from the machine on the way out, of course.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n Bob Horkin, with his smashed-flat nose and puckered butthole eyes, came over and dropped a stack of pink forms in front of Donnie.<\/p>\n \u201cLate again,\u201d Horkin said, sniffing, snorting, gloating.<\/p>\n Donnie rubbed his temples with his thumbs. His head throbbed.<\/p>\n \u201cMm,\u201d he answered, squinting.<\/p>\n \u201cTie one on last night?\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie mustered a nod.<\/p>\n \u201cHow long\u2019s it been now?\u201d Horkin asked.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s long\u2019s it been since what<\/em>, Bob?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cC\u2019mon, Donnie<\/em>. Since Tracy left you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWeek. And one day. Thanks for your sensitivity, by the way.\u201d<\/p>\n Horkin shrugged. \u201cYou really knock her up? That why she left?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBug off, Horkin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou gonna get those forms filled out today?\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie gritted his teeth. The guy\u2019s voice was like sandpaper on his frontal lobe. \u201cDidn\u2019t I just say to bug off? Bug off. Shoo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGimme one of those Flix Bars, and I\u2019ll leave.\u201d<\/p>\n Next to the mountain of pink forms, and only a few inches from the leaning tower of blue forms, sat the two Flix Bars he\u2019d purchased earlier.<\/p>\n \u201cYou like Flix Bars?\u201d Donnie asked.<\/p>\n \u201cAlways have.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen, no, you can\u2019t have one. Go away.\u201d<\/p>\n Horkin made some exhalation of disgust \u2013 a pfah!<\/em> sound \u2013 and marched off. Donnie didn\u2019t need him as a friend. Denying that man pleasure was the only measure of satisfaction he could muster. To bring up Tracy? Low. His heart hurt just thinking about her. Like someone had tied a boat anchor to it, and the weight was dragging it into his guts. He didn\u2019t deserve this. Maybe he deserved the hangover, sure. But not the heartache.<\/p>\n \u201cOne of those candy bars for me, man?\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie looked behind him, found Tabor bringing the mail cart with the one squeaky, epileptic wheel. Tabor was huge, hunkered over that cart like Godzilla playing pinball. The fact that the cart was painted white and Tabor was about the darkest shade of black outside of a midnight sky during a lunar eclipse, it only enhanced the visual.<\/p>\n \u201cAs a matter of fact,\u201d Donnie said, \u201cit is.\u201d And it was, too, no lie. He tossed a Flix Bar back, and Tabor caught it in the palm of one tennis racket hand.<\/p>\n Tabor pulled up an empty chair.<\/p>\n \u201cHow you holding up, brother?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, let\u2019s not talk about that.\u201d<\/p>\n The big dude\u2019s lips formed a surprised \u2018o.\u2019<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Donnie asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s your breath, man. You don\u2019t need to tell me how you\u2019re doing, because your breath tell the whole damn story. Smells like someone poured tequila on a dead possum and shoved it in your mouth to pickle for a couple days, maybe weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI drank some.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSome?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMost. All. Just eat your Flix Bar.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor crumpled the wrapper, shot it at a wastebasket and missed. Shrugging, he bit his candy bar in half. It formed a swollen lump in his cheek as he chewed.<\/p>\n \u201cLike it?\u201d Donnie said. \u201cI figured you might wanna try one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTry one? I love<\/em> these things.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, you had one before? This was my first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, right what? I\u2019ve never had a Flix Bar before.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho hasn\u2019t had a Flix Bar? That\u2019s like someone saying they\u2019ve never had a can of Coke or a Big Mac. You living in a cave in Afghanistan or something?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShut up, I\u2019ve never even seen<\/em> one of these before.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor pitched the second half of the Flix Bar into his maw and chomped away. He waved a dismissive hand at Donnie. \u201cWhatever, man. You\u2019re still drunk, that\u2019s what I\u2019m hearing you say.\u201d He stood up, swung the chair back under an empty cubicle desk. \u201cNever had a Flix Bar before, my ass. I\u2019ll see you later, Donnie. Stay sane, brother.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, yeah. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine. Uh-huh.\u201d<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n It was a curious thing, how alcohol cured a hangover. It\u2019d be like if getting punched in the face a second time helped the pain of the first.<\/p>\n He couldn\u2019t do tequila, though, so tonight it was cheap wine. Tasted like fake strawberry. Came in a box. Perfect.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m going to rot my teeth out of my head,\u201d he said to himself as he unwrapped another Flix Bar.<\/p>\n He started to crumple the wrapper, but then uncrumpled it.<\/p>\n On the back, he read: \u201cMade by Perigree!\u201d<\/p>\n Never heard of them, either. Must be a new company, he figured.<\/p>\n As he licked smears of chocolate from the corners of his mouth and the flats of his front teeth, Donnie thought about Tracy. It was hard not to, which was what the wine was for \u2013 to smother those thoughts beneath pillows (of rock salt and sackcloth). Drowning was probably the better metaphor, but Donnie didn\u2019t much care.<\/p>\n He wondered aloud what she was going to name the kid.<\/p>\n \u201cBoy or a girl?\u201d he asked nobody. Appropriately, nobody answered.<\/p>\n Stupid kid. Stupid Tracy, wanting to have<\/em> a kid.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not stupid.\u201d He licked his lips and reached for the remote. \u201cI\u2019m smart.\u201d<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n The fruity wine, now half-empty, was starting to gross Donnie out. The sweet candy treats \u2013 four Flix Bars by this point, he was going to have the worst case of acne \u2013 weren\u2019t helping. He wanted something salty. Maybe pretzels, even though, you know, blah, yuck. Instead, he just sat propped up against the headboard of the bed, flicking through channels, feeling queasy.<\/p>\n Buzzing past a channel, he caught a glimpse of something.<\/p>\n Green alien. Purple teeth.<\/p>\n Waggling jazz-hands.<\/p>\n He flicked back.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2014proud to announce the 50th<\/sup> Anniversary Flix Bar! Inside every special edition Flix Bar is a secret code! Text message the code to this number \u2013\u201c<\/p>\n Sure enough, a number flashed on the screen below the dancing alien.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2014and Flixy the Moon Alien might call you back to tell you you\u2019re a winner!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do I win?\u201d Donnie asked the television. Being half-drunk and three-quarters queasy, he believed that the television could probably hear him. He was not disappointed. The screen erupted in colors. The alien put a few new moves into his dancing: a little disco spice, a dash of Travolta, a pinch of roller rink panache. It made Donnie dizzy just watching it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou win a lifetime supply of Flix Bars!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUgh.\u201d His stomach roiled at the thought.<\/p>\n Wait.<\/p>\n The 50th<\/sup><\/em> Anniversary?<\/p>\n \u201cI call bullshit!\u201d Donnie stammered.<\/p>\n No way this stupid candy bar had been around for fifty years. It couldn\u2019t have been around for five<\/em> years, much less fifty.<\/p>\n \u201cScrew you, Flixy! Moon Alien bastard!\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie pitched the remote at the television. It caught the corner, and spun upwards in an erratic mid-air pirouette. It hit the wall and exploded into many pieces.<\/p>\n \u201cServes you right, remote control.\u201d<\/p>\n Sometime soon after, Donnie found himself in the bathroom, throwing up.<\/p>\n Sometime soon after that<\/em>, Donnie passed out in the tub.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n His head was ringing.<\/p>\n No. Wait. Phone.<\/p>\n A phone<\/em> was ringing.<\/p>\n Somehow, he managed to crawl out of the tub and slug himself to the nightstand by the bed. The alarm clock told him it was just past two in the morning.<\/p>\n He answered the phone.<\/p>\n \u201cGuh,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cDonnie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTracy,\u201d he said, surprised. His mouth turned to cotton. He felt suddenly very awake, very sober. \u201cHow\u2019d you \u2013?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFind you? Tabor gave me the motel name.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d She sounded like she\u2019d been crying. \u201cHave you been crying?\u201d<\/p>\n She sniffed. \u201cI did it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Did what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI had an abortion.\u201d<\/p>\n Silence. Crickets. Tumbleweeds.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, that\u2019s good, right?\u201d he asked, finally.<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t say anything. Just another sniff.<\/p>\n \u201cNow we can get back together,\u201d he said. It was true. Wasn\u2019t it? Couldn\u2019t they? No baby to drag them down? No sudden pressure to get married, raise a litter?<\/p>\n She said nothing. Nada. Just her, breathing. Just transmissible grief.<\/p>\n \u201cBabe \u2013\u201c he tried.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s over,\u201d she said. \u201cWe\u2019re done. I just wanted \u2013 I just needed<\/em> you to know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTrace \u2013\u201c<\/p>\n Click.<\/p>\n He tried calling her back.<\/p>\n Went straight to voicemail.<\/p>\n \u201cGuh,\u201d he said, and curled up in a ball.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n At work, everything hurt. The fluorescent light pried open his eyes like a demon with hands of white fire. The demon tore open his eyelids and kicked him in the pupil repeatedly. His mouth tasted of brine-soaked gym socks. His lips were dry like balsa wood.<\/p>\n Everyone was looking at him. Eyes peered over cubicle walls. Whispers and murmurs drifted around; he caught his name, periodically.<\/p>\n Even Horkin seemed suddenly sensitive.<\/p>\n The pig-faced jerk brought by another ream of forms to add to the still-existing pile resting on Donnie\u2019s desk.<\/p>\n His beady stare drifted up and down Donnie, then he laughed, all nervous-like.<\/p>\n \u201cYou probably don\u2019t need these, right now,\u201d Horkin said. He picked the forms back up.<\/p>\n \u201cYour voice sounds like hammers,\u201d Donnie said.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll bring these back later,\u201d Bob said, retreating.<\/p>\n Sometime later, Tabor came up behind him, rested one of those hamhock hands on Donnie\u2019s shoulders (though in his defense, it was as gentle a touch as Donnie had felt, almost as if Donnie would break into little fragments if he wasn\u2019t handled with the uttermost gingerness).<\/p>\n \u201cLunch time, man,\u201d Tabor said.<\/p>\n \u201cNot hungry,\u201d Donnie managed.<\/p>\n \u201cI think we need to go out somewhere. Right now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t. Work to do.\u201d Not that he was doing it. Stupid work.<\/p>\n \u201cDonnie?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTabor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know you\u2019re wearing sweatpants? And a robe? No shirt?\u201d<\/p>\n It was news to him. He looked down. Sure enough, gray pair of sweatpants (with a few chocolate stains on the thighs, thankfully upfront and not behind him), ratty hotel robe, and \u2013 whoops \u2013 no shirt. Sweat beaded in his meager chest hairs.<\/p>\n \u201cHuh,\u201d Donnie said. \u201cUh-oh.\u201d<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n It was a gray day outside, bleak and bleary and with clouds that looked like hairballs bobbing across the steely expanse. Tabor drove \u2013 a hatchback Honda far too small for his hulking musculature \u2013 and Donnie sat in the passenger side, lying against the seatbelt strap, moaning.<\/p>\n Tabor wanted to talk. He was friends with both Donnie and<\/em> Tracy, he said. Wanted to help everybody.<\/p>\n \u201cThen help us get back together,\u201d Donnie said.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t work like that, dude. Abortion\u2019s some rough stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo she told you.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor paused. \u201cYeah. She told me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe regrets it,\u201d Donnie said. \u201cI heard it in her voice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you regret it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d Lie. Big lie. Gigantor<\/em> lie with crushing feet. \u201cYes. I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m hungry,\u201d Tabor said.<\/p>\n \u201cSuper. I\u2019m sitting here, my head feeling like a rotten pumpkin filled with bees, and I\u2019m pouring my heart out \u2013 in a conversation you<\/em> started, by the by \u2013 and now you don\u2019t care and just want to eat.\u201d Donnie closed his eyes and breathed loudly. \u201cFee Fie Fo Fum<\/em>, Tabor smells the blood of an English-mun<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor rolled his eyes. \u201cMan, don\u2019t be that way. Listen, you want to keep talking, then we need to eat. It\u2019s lunch time. I got blood sugar issues.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine. Fine<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere you wanna go?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot hungry. Don\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor waved a hand. \u201cYou gotta eat something. When\u2019s the last time you ate?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLast night. Flix bars and boxed wine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, you a health nut, now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t mock me.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor started rattling off restaurants \u2013 local joints, chain places, fast food.<\/p>\n \u201cFast food,\u201d Donnie said. He needed some grease to hold his body together.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBurger King. I think I want Burger King.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe hell is Burger King?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou deaf?\u201d Tabor enunciated every word: \u201cWhat. Is. Burger. King?\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie felt his pulse quicken. He didn\u2019t need this kind of nonsense. His head was fragile already, a Faberge egg held together with spit and masking tape. Tabor, his best friend \u2013 and without Tracy, his only<\/em> friend \u2013 was turning against him, toying with his tender brainmeats.<\/p>\n \u201cShut up!\u201d Donnie barked. \u201cYou damn well know what a, a, a Burger King is! It\u2019s the place! Where the \u2013 the King of Burgers lives! Golden crown? Kind of a gay beard? Big smile? The BK Broiler? Jesus!\u201d He pounded the dashboard with the flat of his hand to enunciate how little he wished to be messed with right now.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need to settle down, man. I seriously don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about, I am not making this up. Tell me. Is there a Burger King nearby?\u201d<\/p>\n Teeth clenched. He was thisclose<\/em> to screeching like an attacking raptor and pouncing on Tabor with beak and talon (or at least unbrushed teeth and sweaty palms). He sucked in a deep breath. \u201cBurger King. Corner of Redstone and Spring Market. By the entrance ramp to the bypass.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor frowned. Waited. \u201cOooookay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay what? What\u2019s the frown for?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not a Burger King.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not a \u2013 well, then, what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMan, that\u2019s the Burrito Hut<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n \u201cThe Burrito Hut,\u201d Donnie read the sign.<\/p>\n It\u2019s what the sign said. A slim burrito arch \u2013 the giant tortilla dripping fake hot sauce, beans, meat chunks, and for some goddamn reason the giant tortilla had big googly eyes \u2013 framed the words.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t new, either. The Hut looked weathered. Its purple walls were fading, pocked; someone had sprayed graffiti on the back dumpster. Place was busy, though. Cars lined up in the drive-thru. Parking lot at least half full, and through the glare on the outside window Donnie could see people agglomerating at the counter.<\/p>\n \u201cThis used to be a Burger King,\u201d Donnie said. \u201cLike, yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor blinked. Eyes narrowed to concerned slits.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s been here forever, you say?\u201d Donnie asked.<\/p>\n Tabor nodded. \u201cYeah, dude. I eat here all the time. Their Shimmy-Chimi is pretty much the best damn thing since cable television.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you love Flix Bars.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you\u2019ve never heard of a Burger King.\u201d<\/p>\n Tabor held up his hands like a Vegas dealer, slapped them together as if to show that he wasn\u2019t cheating. \u201cNever, not once.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI gotta go,\u201d Donnie said, suddenly.<\/p>\n \u201cI gotta eat,\u201d Tabor countered.<\/p>\n Abruptly, Donnie left the idling car and ran. Somewhere behind him, Tabor\u2019s voice called after him, but it was lost, forgotten. He didn\u2019t know where he was running, or even why, but there was the distinct feeling that something was both chasing him, and he was chasing something.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n That night, Donnie found himself back at the motel room. His legs burned and itched from all the running. He hadn\u2019t stopped running since he took off out of Tabor\u2019s car, which was easily six hours ago. His robe was soaked with sweat. His sweat pants were soaked with sweat, too, though arguably that was their purpose, you know, hence the name.<\/p>\n He looked in the mirror of the bathroom, barely recognized himself.<\/p>\n Bloodshot eyes. Gaunt face. Mouth frozen in a slightly-horrified rictus.<\/p>\n He was seeing things, too. All during the run, he felt a presence behind him. His peripheral vision caught sight of something, too, like a shape running alongside of him, watching him from behind hedgerows and trashcans. The shadow wasn\u2019t a big thing, no larger than a dog or a dwarf. A midget, maybe. Maybe he was being chased by a midget. A ninja midget. Shit. That didn\u2019t make any sense.<\/p>\n His stomach growled.<\/p>\n \u201cShut up,\u201d he told it.<\/p>\n He considered going back and filling his gut with more booze. A bottle of whiskey sat atop the television. He decided it would be a bad idea. A profoundly bad idea. He did it anyway.<\/p>\n Lips on bottle, hot Irish fire charbroiling his esophagus.<\/p>\n He pulled away from the bottle such a sucking foomp<\/em>, and set it back atop the TV.<\/p>\n Then he noticed.<\/p>\n Jack Kenny Whiskey. Blue Label, it said.<\/p>\n Donnie blinked.<\/p>\n There was no such thing as Jack Kenny Whiskey.<\/p>\n And yet, here it was. He\u2019d just had some. It wasn\u2019t far from a trashcan filled with Flix Bar wrappers, and Flix Bar didn\u2019t exist, either. And Burrito Hut, about five miles away. Goddamn Burrito Hut.<\/p>\n That\u2019s where he\u2019d go. Burrito Hut.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I just came from there,\u201d Donnie explained to himself.<\/p>\n Didn\u2019t matter. Here, he couldn\u2019t ask any questions of a pile of Flix Bar wrappers or a neck-empty bottle of so-called Jack Kenny Whiskey. At Burrito Hut, though, he could get to the bottom of things. He could ask some questions. Find what they did with Burger King. Was it drugs? In the water supply? A conspiracy was afoot.<\/p>\n He took a few quick deep breaths, slapped his legs to get the blood moving, then broke into another crazy marathoner run out the door, back to Burrito Hut.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n Public drunkenness, they called it.<\/p>\n Which wasn\u2019t fair, not really. Donnie wasn\u2019t drunk. Any of the lingering buzz from the not-really-real Jack Kenny Whiskey had long since faded when he ran through the front doors of the Burrito Hut.<\/p>\n The bars of the holding cell were surprisingly warm. The whole place, with its cement walls painted banana-colored, and its metal toilet, was actually pretty damn humid. Moisture glistened on the walls. When they threw him in here, alone, the one lady cop told him that the air conditioning was busted.<\/p>\n He took a deep breath. What he\u2019d seen in the Burrito Hut, what he\u2019d glimpsed \u2013<\/p>\n Everything seemed normal, at first. Late lunchers, lining up at the counter. A pair of Hispanics in front of him, and in front of them, a little girl in a side-sprouting pony-tail with her mother busily thumbing numbers into her Blackberry (probably text messaging Flixy the Moon Alien, Donnie thought at the time, a thought that would later become alarming relevant). Manning the single-register counter was a rubicund, fat-cheeked teen with a purple paper hat.<\/p>\n Donnie didn\u2019t know what he was expecting. He had no script. He felt sick inside. The fast food joint had felt constraining, like it was closing in on him.<\/p>\n He got to the counter, and let fly.<\/p>\n What he said, he didn\u2019t precisely remember. Something about Flix Bars. Something about conspiracies. Maybe even something about Tracy. The smell that drifted from the kitchen was a mix of sharp spices and potted meat, a tangy (too tangy, really, to be appetizing) conglomeration of the two.<\/p>\n In mid-rant, that\u2019s when he\u2019d seen it.<\/p>\n Behind some kind of massive pressure-cooker \u2013 some stainless steel thing with a line of dried refried beans crusted to its side \u2013 Donnie saw movement.<\/p>\n It was a shimmering shape, unreal, a specter. Like those blurry shots of Bigfoot or any lake monster, the details were imperfect, almost incomprehensible. A swath of green flashed against a half-moon slice of purple. Movement like fly-wings buzzing, too fast, too strange. And then it was gone again, blinking out of existence. The cooker continued to bubble and steam.<\/p>\n Donnie freaked.<\/p>\n By his recollection, he did a lot of wild gesticulating.<\/p>\n Maaaaybe some yelling.<\/p>\n Not impossible that he said something about aliens, and then spit on the register.<\/p>\n Mistakes were made.<\/p>\n Worst of all, he hadn\u2019t noticed the police officer that had come in soon after he did and was waiting two people behind him.<\/p>\n And now, here. Jail. Holding cell. Shit.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n His one phone call, made to Tracy.<\/p>\n It was probably a mistake. He should\u2019ve called Tabor. But while it was irrational, it felt like Tabor was part of whatever was happening. Tabor loved Flix Bars. Tabor couldn\u2019t get enough of Burrito Hut. Tabor probably bathed in a swimming pool filled with warm Jack Kenny Whiskey.<\/p>\n Donnie asked Tracy to post bail.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, Donnie. It\u2019s a lot of money.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou only need part of it. You could sell my old Monkees LPs. They\u2019re worth something. The comic books, too. Even the toys! I\u2019ve got a lot of toys.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t see you right now, Donnie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTracy, please, I\u2019m in jail.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n Desperate gambit time. \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s it? You know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut \u2013 wait! Tell Tabor! He\u2019ll help! Send Tabor!\u201d<\/p>\n It was too late. She\u2019d already hung up.<\/p>\n Behind the sound of the dial tone, Donnie thought he heard a baby crying.<\/p>\n And then they were pulling him away from the phone, and the sound was gone.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n Things got weird around midnight.<\/p>\n Donnie was half-asleep on the cot in the cell\u2019s corner, trying to shut out the light (the cops informed him that the lights never shut off, not even at night). He was caught in the throes of half-dreams to go with his half-sleep. Shadows of Tracy visited him, but every time she went to talk he heard a baby squalling somewhere and her words were lost. Something about how it was too late, too late, if only<\/em>. Tabor the Giant came along with his squeaky white cart, except he was easily twice his normal size, and in these partial dreams he kept picking Donnie up and shoving him in the cart, murmuring something about a \u201cmail call.\u201d Sometimes, Donnie felt the taste of a Flix Bar in his mouth, or the burn of Jack Kenny Whiskey down his throat, or the sickly sweet scent of Grade-E-but-Edible Tex-Mex fiesta meat from the diabolical Burrito Hut. Other sensations visited him, too, ones he couldn\u2019t explain: the nasal tang of an unknown perfume, tinny electro-pop music like which he\u2019d never heard, the mysterious taste of a falafel (he was certain it was a falafel, though he\u2019d never eaten, or frankly seen<\/em>, a falafel before).<\/p>\n And then he saw them.<\/p>\n Moon Aliens, like Flixy.<\/p>\n Seven of them.<\/p>\n Except they weren\u2019t cartoons \u2013 he caught a glimpse of pinched reptilian flesh, and white fangs stained with grape-colored smears \u2013 and they came at him, hands reaching, stubby fingers wagging in the humid jail cell heat, and they shimmered as if seen behind a gauzy haze of heat rising off a blistering highway\u2013<\/p>\n And Donnie wondered when this dream would move on and give way toward something even stranger.<\/p>\n But the dream did not move on.<\/p>\n Green hands that smelled of metal and chocolate covered his face.<\/p>\n He tried to cry out.<\/p>\n The lights went out.<\/p>\n And that\u2019s when things got really<\/em> weird.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n Lights coruscated all around him. Each flash felt like it cut straight to his cerebral cortex, burning an image into his brain.<\/p>\n He saw flying babies zip past him. Cherubic grins. Fat faces. Curious hands reaching for him as they zoomed by.<\/p>\n His guts felt like taffy.<\/p>\n And it felt like someone was trying to pull that gut-taffy out of his body through his mouth, ears, and anus.<\/p>\n Then \u2013 a pop<\/em> sound, preceded by a faint sucking noise, like the one Donnie\u2019s lips made when he pried them free of the Jack Kenny bottle.<\/p>\n All was dark, at least for a little while.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n \u201cSome people do not react well to change.\u201d<\/p>\n Donnie lurched upright. His head swam, vision dipped.<\/p>\n The room was long, narrow, with walls of steel and a faint blue light suffused throughout. At the margins of the room, Donnie saw several of the Moon Aliens shuffling back and forth, grunting like piglets with slop in their mouths and noses. The Flixies chattered back and forth, sometimes clacking their empurpled teeth.<\/p>\n At the far end of the room \u2013 the end Donnie sat facing \u2013 was a pull-down screen. At the other end of the room blinked the winking eye of a projector.<\/p>\n Projected on the screen was an image Donnie couldn\u2019t quite parse.<\/p>\n It seemed to be a generic gray and black 9-Volt battery with a pair of googly eyes, like the ones glued to a cheap arts-and-crafts doll. The fake eyes looked this way, and that.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m on drugs,\u201d Donnie whispered.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not on drugs,\u201d the battery said. He knew the battery said it because with each word \u2013 each syllable, really \u2013 the battery pulsed with white light.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re a battery.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am merely an image you would understand. Were I to show you my true form, your human mind would explode into a thousand personalities and leave you wailing in a pile of your own fetid mess.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve lost my mind,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve not lost your mind,\u201d the battery asserted.<\/p>\n The Flixies chuffed and snorted in what might have been agreement.<\/p>\n One of them casually ate what appeared to be a chimichanga. Another displayed its beckoning jazz hands.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a chimichanga,\u201d Donnie said, wide-eyed.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d the battery confirmed.<\/p>\n The room was silent for a little while, except for the snorfling breathing of the two dozen or so Flixies shifting from one stubby green foot to another.<\/p>\n Swallowing hard, Donnie said: \u201cA little help here? If I\u2019m not high, and I\u2019m not crazy, then \u2013?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAs I said, some people do not react well to change. These people \u2013 like you \u2014 are the ones who cannot properly compute the dimensional shifts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDimensional shifts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d the battery said. \u201cThe subtle alterations to the fabric of your reality are performed through delicate dimensional shifts. Ninety-nine percent of people accept these changes without thought or concern.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I\u2019m part of the one percent?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n Silence again as Donnie regarded the googly-eyed battery. The battery may have regarded him in return, but it was hard to tell, what with the googly-eyes and all.<\/p>\n Suddenly, Donnie snapped his fingers. \u201cFlix Bars! I bet they\u2019re part of the subtle alterations of dimensional, you know, whatever. Right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Flix Bars, Burrito Hut, Jack Kenny Whiskey, Ganymede Electronics, Vaginex Creams, Lung Sui-Wu Cookery Sets, Cowboy Tom\u2019s Microwave Falaf \u2013\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, okay, you can stop. All those products are now in our dimension? And they weren\u2019t before?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, but not just your dimension. We established a product roll-out covering four hundred Earth-based dimensions, as pioneered by the Perigree Corporation, which is owned by the Jimza Conglomerate, which is owned by the Meiner-Schiften People, which is owned by \u2013\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cAll right!\u201d Donnie barked. \u201cThis is a little much for me to handle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s fine. Why are these products now in our dimension?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMoney. More dimensions means more sales. More sales, higher stock.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like to just go home, now,\u201d Donnie said, and it was true. He didn\u2019t feel well. He was dressed in a robe in some alien ship or dimensional box, and he really didn\u2019t belong here. He said as much to the battery.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d the battery pulsed. \u201cI\u2019m afraid we have to destroy you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut \u2013!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat we\u2019re doing goes against the Quantum Code as established by Earth Seven in the Year of the Dragon, 1976. We cannot have you blowing the whistle.\u201d<\/p>\n Movement to his left and right. The Flixies shuffled cautiously toward him, purple-smear teeth glowing weirdly in the bluish light. Some of them held knives that could\u2019ve doubled as Satanic gynecological equipment.<\/p>\n \u201cBut \u2013 why? Why did you even bother to bring me here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll sentient creatures deserve knowledge.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut by telling me this, that means you have to kill me!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Knowledge has its price.\u201d<\/p>\n The Flixies pounced. Hands grabbed at him and dragged him down. Teeth clacked and chomped at one another; some kind of mad language. He saw the glint of a blade moving toward his heart.<\/p>\n \u201cWait!\u201d he cried. \u201cLet\u2019s make a deal! Please!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n The Flixies stopped, as if hearing an unspoken cue.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can offer us nothing,\u201d the battery declared.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Donnie stammered, \u201cbut you can offer me<\/em> something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do not understand.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you grant me a favor, then you\u2019ve got me on the hook. Suddenly, I\u2019m in your pocket! I won\u2019t tell anybody anything if I\u2019m in your pocket! That way, you don\u2019t have to destroy me! Killing me is probably illegal, too, right? Some, uh, Quantum Code violation?\u201d<\/p>\n The battery seemed to think about this.<\/p>\n The googly-eyes narrowed.<\/p>\n \u201cYes. It is a violation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt can be a mutual pact. A deal. I\u2019ll keep quiet. Just help me with one thing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell me this thing,\u201d the battery demanded.<\/p>\n So Donnie told him.<\/p>\n <*><\/p>\n The baby cried. The sound was joyous.<\/p>\n Slick with goo and red as a sliced beet, the little tow-head wriggled and sobbed and clenched his corn-sized toes.<\/p>\n Tracy looked spent, utterly so, but her face was beaming nevertheless. A nurse swabbed sweat from her glistening brow. Outside the window of the hospital room, Tabor\u2019s big shape and shadow could be seen dutifully pacing, the task of a good friend.<\/p>\n The presence of his new son was going to be a big change. It\u2019d require real responsibility. Donnie knew he was wearing the Big Boy Pants \u2013 the Daddy <\/em>Pants \u2013 now, and that nothing would ever be the same.<\/p>\n But he was ready for the change.<\/p>\n The talking battery be damned.<\/p>\n Of course, the deal had some complications. Tracy had already had an abortion in this dimension, the battery explained. The baby was gone. To comply with Donnie\u2019s request, they had to pluck another Tracy \u2013 the most similar Tracy they could find \u2013 from another Earth and, well, trade<\/em> the two of them. It was fine. The battery told him that neither Tracy would know. Both would be happy in both continuums, whatever a \u2018continuum\u2019 was.<\/p>\n The nurse gave Tracy the baby. The doctor handed off the umbilicus.<\/p>\n Once in Tracy\u2019s embrace, their son stopped crying and seemed to settle into a kind of happy gurgling.<\/p>\n Donnie leaned in and stroked her brow.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you want to name him?\u201d he asked Tracy.<\/p>\n She thought about it for a moment as a single happy tear rolled down her cheek.<\/p>\n \u201cFlixy,\u201d she said, finally.<\/p>\n Donnie started to laugh, it was funny, though uncomfortable<\/em>-funny, but then he saw a faint shimmer around his new son, and the pink babyflesh became for a moment a strange hue of Iguana green, and he saw a flash of purple teeth reaching for Tracy\u2019s breast beneath the sheet. Then the shimmer extended upwards to Tracy, too, and he saw her smeared teeth and green skin as she smiled.<\/p>\n Then it was gone. The haze dissipated, and his wife and son were back again.<\/p>\n A little voice in his head told him to run, run<\/em>. Break into a hard run and never come back.<\/em><\/p>\n But he suppressed it.<\/p>\n \u201cI like change,\u201d he croaked. He shuddered. \u201cChange is good.\u201d<\/p>\n At least they gave him that lifetime supply of Flix Bars.<\/p>\n Drawing a deep breath, he reached toward Tracy and their new son, Flixy.<\/p>\n Product Placement by Chuck Wendig The glass of the vending machine was cool against Donnie\u2019s head. He stood like that for a few minutes, eyes half-shut. He considered going to sleep. Dumb, given that his motel room was about ten feet to his right. But the glass of the machine was about as comfortable as […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":73,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3363","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","post","no-featured-image"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/Pv7MR-Sf","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3363","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3363"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3363\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16383,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3363\/revisions\/16383"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/73"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3363"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nGently, Donnie stood.<\/p>\n\u00a9 Chuck Wendig 2009<\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"