Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

The master stem speaks throughout a wicked spectacular blossom. The supplicant crawls up to it. Acknowledged, the supplicant kisses the gnarled roots before him. The stem quietly evaluates through senses unknown, judging by a formula known but to itself.

“Purge.” The blossom strains with the effort of speaking the only word it will utter for the month.

A radio crackles the news throughout the glen. The galactic search will continue for one that is fit to kneel before the kernel of divine and growing and green. The others gather around the stricken supplicant without incident. He knows he is for the purge, and he accepts it.

His body will go beneath the roots, helping them to grow strong.

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“One wonders what people of old would think, seeing what we’ve made of their traditions and their holidays.”

“Now, now, traditions like Mardi Gras and Carnival have been around for centuries. This isn’t just something you can blame on ‘kids these days,’ you know.”

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~54@//noclip.phpo you think of Chinese New Year, then? It’s a holiday that I’d wager 90% of the ‘kids these days’ have absolutely no stake in, but they celebrate it anyway. It’s an excuse to go out and get loaded, nothing more.”

“You say that as if kids need an excuse. They were going out and getting loaded to celebrate Tuesday when I was in school.”

“It’s not that. The thing that bugs me is that they have latched onto something that was once sacred and made it profane. It would be like if the liturgical calendar had an Feast of St. Alcoholic and people were celebrating it by going dry.”

“It still sounds to me like an ‘I’m old and bitter and things aren’t going the way I want them to’ issue to me.”

“Well, we’ll see how you feel when the only vestige of any tradition is a day when people go out and get sloshed.”

“I look forward to it.”

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A young man repeats a capitalist alarm.
This ludicrous idea combats a coin across the inverse arcade floor.
Within the periodic alarm appears the organized view.
An analysis sighs around the attending ecology.

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MELINDA: Welcome to the 2015 Love Versus Hate debate, brought to you live here on NBS. I’m your moderator, Melinda Doe, broadcasting from a darkened room in an undisclosed location for fear of reprisals. Today’s telecast is brought to you by GesteCo Pharmaceuticals, Kyoto Processed Ricepaper Concerns Press, and viewers like you. Let’s meet our panelists!

[Logos for GesteCo, KPRC Press flash as their names are mentioned.]

MELINDA: For hate, we have Ulgathk the Ever-Living, Elder Lich of the Nine Planes. He’s a sitting member of the Council of Undeath, sole ruler and commander-in-chief of the Unholy Army, and Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs in the Obama Administration.

[The lights rise on ULGATHK THE EVER-LIVING, who is seated in a thoughtful pose with skeletal fingers tented on crossed legs. He is dressed richly in the style of a European monarch, and horrible lights of madness and magic dance in his empty eye sockets.]

ULGATHK: Thank you, Melinda. Your location unto the millimeter is known to me and my legions of deathspitters. I trust you will take this into account with your impartial moderation this evening.

MELINDA: And for love, Bullsick Nomis, Adjudicator Supreme of the Sacred Cabal with orders to root out heresy, punish nonconformity, and share the love among all religions on all the Earths.

[A light shines on ADJUDICATOR NOMIS, who is seated bolt upright. His costume is equal parts cardinal, pope, and pharaoh.]

NOMIS: Pleased to be here, Melinda. There is much heresy to be hugged to death in this vicinity, I can feel it.

MELINDA: Moving back to hatred, Gothmir the Depraved, Wightfather to the swollen risen across the dead spaces between worlds and fresh from his book tour with the Diewalkians.

[Spotlight on GOTHMIR THE DEPRAVED, a most horrible ghoul. He is dressed in the manner of a presidential candidate, with a small flag of the Plane of Reeking Doom on his lapel.]

GOTHMIR: Spoiler alert: they were fabulous. This is largely because they sold their souls to me to become members of my 666 Wailing Consorts upon their death, but there was some natural fabulousness there as well.

MELINDA: For love now, Grand Mufti Al-Temsah, may serenity be upon him. PR to prophets, manager to messiahs, zookeeper for zealots, and spiritual leader to millions of very volatile worshippers across the celestial sphere, His Unquestionableness is the man you want on your side whether you’re starting or just renovating a faith.

[GRAND MUFTI AL-TEMSAH is illuminated. He appears to be dressed in simple black robes with a neatly kept beard until the sheen makes clear that his outfit is woven black gold and his beard is kept in place with rare and extra holy angel tears.]

AL-TEMSAH: I hope we can have a calm and intelligent debate here, full of peace and wisdom. Though I cannot, of course, be held responsible if anyone disagrees with me or interrupts me and therefore leads my followers to completely independently cause Category Five destruction across known existence.

MELINDA: Our last panelist for hatred is of course Nthaeit, Fallen Lord of the Celestials and Archduke of Wights. He’s been in the news recently thanks to his marriage to Archduchess Cthonia, who our viewers know better as socialite Paris Ritchie.

[Illumination reveals the brown and mummified form of ARCHDUKE NTHAEIT, his milky eyes twinkling with malice. He is dressed as a rapper, though close examination shows that all of his bling consists of actual earned noble medals and decorations either from his unfallen days as Celestial Lord Tieahtn or as Archduke of Wights.]

MELINDA: Give us a sneak peek at what your matrimony has been like so far, Your Infernal Grace.

NTHAEIT: We’re just trying to take things day by day, Melinda. We’re still learning about one another as beings, and that’s not without its little annoyances. I’m annoyed when she leaves the toilet seat up, she was annoyed when I sucked the living essence out of her and reduced her to a dessicated husk to sustain myself. It’s a journey, not a destination.

MELINDA: Wonderful. I’m sure we’ll hear more about it when the special airs this March, exclusively on NBS. And now, our final love representative, Dowager Empress Cnhyn Hallud of the Crimson Empire on Alternate Earth. The 19th and final wife of Crimson Emperor Testarossa, she was plucked from obscurity for her beauty before outliving the Emperor by 40 years and counting. Our viewers, of course, know her as a judge on Princess Search here on NBS.

[DOWAGER EMPRESS HALLUD is busily checking her smartphone, and is dressed in the style of the late Elizabeth Taylor. Her leathery hide is tanned and nipped and tucked, and her head is crowned by the Crimson Gem, heirloom to an empire.]

HALLUD: It is beyond fabulous to see you again, Melinda! I’m sure that we can all commune in harmony through the natural vibration of crystals, animated by love from the Cosmic Egg, our joyous songs kept pure through the avoidance of deadly poisons like calories and vaccines.

[The OTHER PANELISTS exchange knowing sideways glances.]

MELINDA: Our first question tonight is for Dowager Empress Hallud for love and Archduke Nthaeit for hate. Do you think that the current planar economy is, as some claim, unfairly favorable to good? This issue has been raised recently by the Occupy Evil movement, who claim that their rights to welsh on debts, commit human sacrifice, and maintain smug senses of superiority are under threat.

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“Happy Valentine’s Day, Auntie Allie.”

Long-range deep-space pilots like Allison were among the most highly-sought-after, highly-paid, and lonely jockeys in the cosmos.

“Did you get my valentine? I made it special for you.”

The relativistic nature of their travel meant that they were permanently sundered from kith and kin. Paid in advance, they often gave the money to the families that they were leaving behind forever during their lonely decades-long voyages.

“I made it out of thing that I found lying around.”

Loneliness and a longing for family that was aging and dying beyond their ken led to a lot of coping mechanisms. Some families would record years’ worth of holiday messages to be played out as the travelers went about their celestial vigils.

“I hope you’re not mad, Auntie Allie.”

Others went the highly illegal route of uploading personality engrams from their families into their ships’ computers before their departure. Allison had made just such an engram of her niece, Callie, before leaving for the voyage that was supposed to provide for Callie and Callie’s invalid mother for the rest of their lives.

“Have you seen Mommy?” I want to show it to her.”

Huddled in the emergency pod, drawing on its oxygen and power reserves, Allison watched fearfully through the porthole as Callie’s engram cried out to her from every screen, every speaker, every port, every network on her ship.

“I want to give her a valentine too, Auntie Allie.”

Carson had suffocated when the atmosphere had been blown out of C Deck. Patel had been asleep when those systems have been overrun with junk data; she was just a brain stem connected to life support now.

“I made valentines for your friends too.”

Atmosphere reserves were dropping, power was almost out, and the only surviving crew member was crying silently next to Allison in the dark.

“I hope they liked them.”

Allison pressed her hand to the porthole.

“I love you, Auntie Allison.”

“I love you too, baby,” Allison whispered. “I love you too. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

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“These science fiction writers, I tell you what.”

“What are you on about now?”

“I picked up this book the other day, it’s about opening a door into a parallel universe where another species of humans out-competed us.”

“So what? That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Yeah, but the author just uses it to be preachy about how he thinks our world should be. They have a ridiculous utopia just so the author can rub his face in what he thinks we’re doing wrong.”

“Like what?”

“Oooh, they have true democracy! Oooh, they have true sexual equality! Oooh, they care about their environment and some practice population control! It makes me sick. If another species of humans really did come out on top, I guarantee you they’d have the same problems we do, if not worse.”

“Yeah. What other species did they choose?”

“Homo sapiens. In their crazy world, the Sapiens out-bred and out-competed Neanderthals. It’s ridiculous of course, but it’s not a bad idea for someone to write a better story about.”

“I’ll say. Hey, can I borrow a filtration cartridge? The acid rain is really bad today and I forgot mine in Shelter Complex Seven.”

“Here you go. You still going to go to the breeding pens to hook up with a femslave tonight? It’s half off because today is the Glorious Primarch’s birthday.”

“You know it, buddy! First one’s on me.”

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NOTICE

The first meeting of the Southern Michigan University Paranormal Activists Society (SMUPAS) will be held Wednesday.

What is a Paranormal Activist? We are tireless crusaders for afterlife justice, free ectoplasm, and the rights of itinerant spirits. We stand against ableist language like “dead as a doornail,” “wake the dead,” and “make a killing.” We stand against lifeist terms like “ghost” or “spook” or “graveyard shift.”

If you or someone you know are interested in Paranormal Activism and making the world a better and more inclusive place for all spirits, whether they are ciscorporeal or transcorporeal or merely wavering on the line between life and death, join SMUPAS or contact our faculty sponsor for a free pamphlet.

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“Well, here’s the thing. Perp was walking through a public space–a park–with his little kid. Then, out of nowhere, he starts screaming and beats a guy who was sitting on a bench to within an inch of his life.”

“What about the bench guy? What have we got on him?”

“Guy’s scum. Registered sex offender with two strikes. We catch him within a mile of an elementary school and he’s going away for a long time.”

“Well, that’s that, then. Guy said something he shouldn’t have about the kid, daddy beats him down for it. Poetic justice.”

“That’s just it. The place was packed with witnesses, Jerry, and they all swear that the bench guy didn’t breathe a word before he was attacked. Wasn’t even leering. As far as we can tell, it was an unprovoked assault.”

“Hmm. Did they know each other from anywhere?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Perp was an out-of-towner.”

“You know, I got a report around the same time of two chicks getting in a shouting match and eventually getting bagged for disturbing the peace. One said the other had called her names, but we’ve got witnesses saying the place was silent as Highpointe Cemetery beforehand.”

“I’ve got a feeling, Jerry, that I don’t like where this is going.”

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In the event, it seemed that everythIng worked out all right with MariAnne. My gut instinct had been to write our relaTionship off entirely, but in thinking so I had done her a disservice. We sAt down and spoke at length where we’d met, where we’d kissed, under the will0ws at Park Point. I wore my favorite outfit, she wore herS, and as luck would Have it they were the same things we had worn on our first meeting, all those many months ago. If you’ve never beEn betrayed, if you have never been the betrayer, it’s hard to talk about that sort of thing. It doesn’t get Any easier once you have. You just have to develop a thick skin, a Rind, a callous of the Mind and soul, to properly talk.

If evErybody could talk the way Marianne and I talked, if eveRybody could feel the way we felt and weep the way we wept, they would understand. Only th0se who have loved, only those who have lost, only those who have done both and leArned to do so again, can understand what passed between us there under those boughs. True love was tested, but foRgiveness prevailed.

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