Fantasies

some of my fantasies. the last ones the best

 

Introduction

 

            I seriously would probably rather not go to college if it meant I didn’t have to take this damn test again. The ACT represents the 4 worst hours of my life. The lady’s voice is high pitched and scratchy and instinctively causes me to bash my head against the desk. “open up and begin,” she commands. So I open up and begin; I begin to think of the countless things I would so much rather be doing, and my mind begins to wander…….

 

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            He died quick and respectable. (BOOM!) gunshot to the head. Drive by in the hood, terrible way to go, but always likely. He walked up to the gigantic house, still indecisive on whether he was in hell or heaven. Looking up towards the roof, he noticed how blue and glossy the sky was; he hoped this was heaven. The pathway to the door was narrow and exquisite, made of beautiful painted marble tile. He finally reached the huge door, it was twice as tall as he was and just as wide. He’d never actually imagined the gates of heaven (or hell) and what they would look like. Is this a real door? Will it suck me into a swirling twirling purple vortex to another world? Should I knock or just walk in? He knocks. The door bursts open before he has a chance to recoil his arm. A monster of a man with dark black skin and a flimsy afro too big even for him grabs his arm and violently flings him through the door. Once inside he realizes this was not a big house, but a mansion. The big man spoke, “Q-Tip, we’ve been waitin for you for a long time.” He looked around the perfect room, largely over crowded by lazy boys and in tables covered with red plastic cups. He glances up at the large man “um…so where am I again?” “Ha Ha…like you don’t already know. Your at the paradise in the sky, Your at THUG’S MANSION now!”

 

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            He bursts into the phone booth with Bill and Ted slamming in right behind him quickly followed by Napoleon and Abraham Lincoln. “Where to?” screams Bill. “Who cares!” answers Ted. “How about the 1400’s!” yells Quinn( the other unknown resident of the phone booth). “1400’s it is!” exclaims Bill as he does something with the phone to put the booth into action. Napoleon starts to blabber on in another language as the time machine hops into another wormhole..

 

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            He woke abruptly in a surge of dazed energy. Sitting up fast, but still looking more than half asleep. The sand scratched against his back and slowly creeped its way downward, falling. Q was the luckiest man on earth, and probably the laziest too.  Waking up startled on the beach, right before sunrise, had become a daily ritual for him. 

            His hair was long and gangly, unwashed for weeks, but perfectly suited with his rugged features. His body was hard like coral, distinguished and cut, and darker than tree bark. He had a full name, but no one ever called him that. When asked his last name he honestly had to think deeply for a moment just to recall it completely; but that rarely ever happened. (waves crash)He gazes intently yet careless at the water. Today they are big, crescent half circles the size of 3 men, maybe bigger. (ring ring ring)His phone pelts out loud reggae music from underneath his sandy blanket. Fidgeting he grasps it and slams it next to his face “hello?” He exaggerates his consciousness. “Q it’s Stella, what’s the flow?” “It’s livin your sure to get slammed…get down here.” “On my way!” (click, dial tone…)Her voice is blunt and sexy, but nothing compared to her face. He lays back down and slowly drifts off, already imagining her pulling up in a bright yellow bikini. He smiles, then starts to snore.

 

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            He crash lands from the heavens in a giant fiery heap of metal, instantly transforming into the most beautiful big-rig semi-truck earth has ever seen, his name is Optimus Prime. And he is always watching.

 

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            He was an elf, a very young elf at that, but it didn’t matter. Quinolas was the fastest most lethal elf in all of Rivendale. It wasn’t his bow that was feared, but his flying fists of fury, hardly visible to the eyes of a mere man. No amount of skill, man or elf, could match his own. Now danger and he must answer the call. “Will you join the fellowship of the ring?” asks the old, wise leader of the elves. “I will. I will protect the ring at all costs, with my fists of fury.” He solemnly swears. He joins the noble fellowship among the likes of two large burly men, one other elf with strong bow skills, a short but loud dwarf, and four adorable hobbits. “We shall leave at first sun,” says the bigger of the two men, obviously in control. Quinolas leaves to his humble loft to prepare for the next day. He doesn’t sleep. Only ponders the journey to come, it will surely be the most important journey the world has ever known.

 

 

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            He knocks lightly on the enormous golden fence, being that he had just died he assumes he is standing at the gates of heaven. (Creeeaaakkk!)the giant door opens slowly revealing an undersized midget attempting to move it. “Come in, come in, quickly.” The little man persistently squeals out. He walks through the gates and nearly passes out at what he sees next. Right there in front of his very eyes are the famous four of The Rat Pack. He steps forward, struggling to even walk. Looking left he notices Peter Lawford doing unmistakably the best Shakespeare parody anyone has ever seen “to be or not to be? He asks flawlessly, undoubtedly the best actor ever! He looks forward now at the other three, they are formed in a trio and projecting perfect sound. He listens closer and hears that Frank Sinatra is singing bass vocals, Sammy Davis Jr. is bee bopping furiously in false setto, and Dean Martin is humming along in perfect harmony. He always knew heaven would be great, but never quite imagined anything like this.

 

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            He gently strums his guitar in perfect unison with the man sitting next to him. They are in a large black room with a single spotlight over head shining brightly on their faces. He looks left and nods at the man, he keeps strumming, and Bob Marley sweetly begins to sing Redemption Song.

 

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            He’s trapped against his will, with no escape. Walking to his next class he sees an exit, on impulse he explodes through the doors on a sprint to his distant car. He is the first, and clearly the bravest; never, not once, has anyone actually left with out checking out first! “sluff, sluffer!” He hears the confused students yelling. But he does not care, because now he is free.

 

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            He looks at his men in sadness, and they gaze back at their strong and noble General puzzled. They would have gone to hell and back for him, it breaks his heart to send them away; but he has no choice. “Men this fight is not worth fighting. I won’t let you go. So go home now, while you are still young,” he speaks softly. They look back at him confused and speechless. The general tries to speak but chokes on the frog in his throat. He fights back tears as he turns around, walking forward onto battle by himself, away from his brave men, away from everything, the mighty General, that will always be alone.

 

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            When he is very young, around five, he is always quiet, and somewhat contained inside his head. Around twelve he starts to realize what he was always meant to be, what he was born to be. He starts to become obsessed with cowboys; and more importantly: the feared outlaws. He grabs his best pair of pants and his fathers old coat and hat(which was forgotten when he abandoned them)and runs fearless into the night, knowing he will never see his drunken excuse for a mother again.

            He wakes up restless, not remembering ever falling asleep; in an old beat up shack of an even older beat up man with long gray hair and a dirty mustache that completely covers his upper lip. The old man tosses a steaming bowl of chili onto the table “get up boy, yir gotta eat then we gots work to do.” “ima comin.” He mumbles as he hops out the door. He lives with the old man a good long while. Years even. He learns that the old man has the best shot this side o’ the Mississippi(Hell probably even the whole world!) He learns how to shoot a coon in stride at 800 yards away, and more importantly he learns how to draw his guns faster than any man ever has before. He gets older and he grows tough, he now can grow a real man’s beard, he knows it’s time to go so he tells the old man he’s leaving, the old man gives him 2 shiney perfect guns and tells him he’ll never lose with these. He walks out the door a boy, and enters the world a man, knowing he will never see the old man again.

            Years pass. And now wanted papers cover every saloon in every city, big or little, with his face on it and his name printed in bold: QUINCY JAMES! He is the meanest, fastest, most gruesome outlaw that ever lived, feared by every man women and child. He busts through the saloon doors, and everything gets quiet. The piano stops playing, the whiskey stops flowing, even the w****s stop whispering.       

            He looks for any eyes stupid enough to meet his own, but knows he will find none. He walks untouchable and fearless through the would-be gents and drunken gun slingers to the bar “whiskey…double! He demands from the bar tender. A small bald man, terrified beyond reckoning, cautiously pours the drinks and hides again under the bar. He slams his drinks in 2 quick gulps, and turns around to meet the frozen faces hidden again in their hands. He slowly starts to strut out, straight shot to the door, moving every man women and table out of the way. When all of a sudden it happened. Crash! Wham! (drip drip) It was a large man that spilled his drink but how large wouldn’t have made any difference. His whiskey spilled on the wrong boot, at the wrong time, in the most wrong of places. He grabs the man by the neck and throws him wildly out the saloon doors with little effort and yells “Git yer gun out!” The big man trembles but knows he has no choice, and pulls his gun out. “Now you best shoot me now, or you know ima have to kill you.” The big man raises his gun and snaps the safety off…but is shot dead in the belly before he has a chance to even think about pulling the trigger. The outlaw turns slowly, walking toward his horse. He remembers the big man’s face and feels sick, he then decides that when he dies hell itself won’t even let him in because he’s so damn rotten. He hops on his horse and rides off into the sunset, knowing he will never see this place again.