Digby's Era of Eminence, Chapter Two

That afternoon, Pop entered the bowling alley equipped with his trusty ball-carrying shoulderbag carrying his trusty blue ball. Pop always used his own ball; it was his friend, his champion, and his good luck charm. Also he couldn't use the balls at the alley because they all weighed at least as much as he did. The lights in the building were dimmed, and the vicinity was deserted. A chill swept over Pop, through his veins and down his spine. Ravens were perched on the still, breathless fan blades and air conditioning pipes, staring down at him attentively and occasionally ruffling their wings or cawing menacingly. A tumbleweed was swept up from behind him and rolled softly across the big, open wood floor by a phantom wind. Pop thought he heard music; the rising vibrations of a string orchestra accompanied by the low hum of a trombone quartet. He hugged his shoulderbag and proceeded with caution.

There were echoing sounds of a heavy switch flipping, and a spotlight appeared, illuminating the floor at the center of the hall. Then it moved in tiny circles erratically for a moment or two before locating its mark at the bench by which there was a man standing alone. Pop approached him and stepped into the light.

"So you decided to show, little man?" said the big, muscular dude who had challenged Pop one day prior. His voice reverberated lightly. "I expected you to chicken out."

"I'm not the chicken," Pop retorted. "You're the chicken. You'll be the chicken when I'm done with you. I'll beat you so badly you'll be scared and wet your pants, and you'll be the chicken then."

The man looked impatient now. "Let's just do this thing, okay?"

Pop wiped the sweat from his forehead, then grabbed his ball with both hands and let the bag drop to the floor silently. "Ready when you are," he said, his voice cracking on the last word.

The man nodded. There was a low, muffled rumbling, and a few seconds later a heavy black ball was spit from the tube in the ground nearby, rolling to a stop by his knee. He lifted it gracefully. The lane lit up, and an unseen mechanical hand laid down the pins for them, shining in white. The man stepped forward and readied himself. Pop was almost too frightened to watch, but he could not bring himself to look away. The man moved his body forward and lifted his arm high behind him, then with a wave of raw momentum he sent the ball on its way like a sniper's bullet, a dark blur that parted the pins like they were made of the lightest air, and all eleven objects the same bounced and throbbed inside the mouth on the far wall until they fell to a deathly silence.

The man turned around and began again towards the bench where Pop was waiting, mouth hanging open. "Your turn," he said.

Pop tried to step forward, but his legs were somehow too heavy to lift. He had to set his ball down, then lean over and pull up on his left shoe with his entire upper body before it would budge. Then he did the same with his right foot, and with some effort, he was able to walk the rest of the way to the line. He looked out across the lane. The mechanical arm was setting out a fresh layer of pins. "This is it, then," Pop said to himself. "I never thought I would die so young." He closed his eyes, and raised the ball over his head. He began to lean ahead and felt gravity's grip on his upper half strengthen. He put his left foot forward.

Then there was a great noise behind him which resembled a wrecking ball plowing into the side of a building. Pop lost his balance in the confusion and fell flat on his face, sending the ball flying into the air, in a curving trajectory like a smooth, exquisite mistake. The thing that had broken through the wall of the bowling alley from the outside was still moving straight like a diving falcon. As the ball reached its peak and began to slide back toward the earth, the flying goat caught it and swung its arm with impressive strength, redirecting it towards the line of pins. The big, muscular man watched in disbelief and awe. The ball was headed for the wall; it would not meet its target; but indeed it clung to the air like a whirling tornado, bending and correcting its path, and it swept across the pins almost sideways, carrying all ten with it as it tumbled down the chute.

Pop lifted himself to look, and saw that he had thrown a strike. "Whoo-hoo!" he hollared, and leaped to his feet. He whipped around to face his opponent, arms raised in celebration. "In your face, guy! I just threw a strike! Boom!" he yelled. "I'm the boss, and you're just a little worm!" But the man was still gazing fixedly behind Pop. 

Curiously, Pop turned to look for himself. Standing there, on two legs, tall as a human, and alive as anyone has ever been, was his friend Digby.

"Digby!" cried Pop, as he threw his arms around the goat as far as he could get them, which wasn't far. "You're alive!" After a moment he took a step back and raised his eyes to meet Digby's. "Did you knock those pins over?" Digby nodded. A thrilled expression washed over Pop's face. "Then you can beat this guy! Play for me, Digby!" he urged him. "We can win this thing!"

"Wait a minute," the man interjected, waving his hands. "We had an agreement, kid. You and me. I didn't sign up to compete against no mutant goat thing."

"Ha!" shouted Pop. "I told you! I told you you'd be scared!"

"I ain't afraid of no one," said the man. "But rules is rules. We had an agreement."

Pop ran around behind the goat and shoved him a couple of steps forward. "Well the rules is changed! You've got a new challenger." Pop stepped up to Digby's side, standing at half his height, and crossed his arms. "Are you man enough?"

The man scowled at him for a long time, then sighed. "Fine. You're on, little goat man," he said, pointing toward Digby. "Frame two, my move. Let's see what you're made of."

He summoned his ball again, lifted it and plugged in his fingers, then stepped up to the line, moved forward, swung his arm, and knocked all the pins over.

"You got this, Digby," Pop reassured him. He handed the goat his trusty 3-pound ball. Digby rolled his eyes, but grabbed the ball and hugged it with his hooves, oddly deformed to the point of unnatural dexterity, as if it were a part of his body. It was difficult to impart to the pins much momentum with such a light object, but the goat's rapid-spinning pitch raked in all ten without much hassle. The two competitors were tied. They continued like this frame after frame, never showing any signs of struggle. 

When the game was finished, still neither had made a mistake, and they were both marked with a perfect three hundred points.

"I guess it's down to a tiebreaker," said the man.

"How does that work?" wondered Pop. "No one's going to flub anytime soon."

"We'll throw at the same time," replied the man. "Whosever's ball knocks over more pins is the winner. Does that sound fair, little man?"

"Not in the least," said Pop, "but only 'cause Digby's way better than you. We accept." He looked up to his friend. "What do you think, boy? The air will slow down your ball more. Can you do this?"

Digby narrowed his eyes and nodded confidently, then patted Pop on the head. Pop smiled and stepped back as the opponents took their places, side by side at the edge of the lane.

"Can I get a count-off?" asked the man.

"Three," said Pop nervously. They assumed their stances. "Two." They raised their balls behind them. "One." They focused their eyes on the prize ahead, and took one last breath.

"Go!"

They were off. It was over in the blink of an eye, but nobody blinked. The man's black ball pierced the air as well as gravity in a straight line with one endpoint at the center of the crowd of pins. Digby's blue lightweight went off in another direction and quickly fell behind, but rather than shoving the atmosphere out of the way as it flew, it commanded the air. A tremendous wind was whipped up around the blue ball and instantly affected the entire room, causing the air mass to begin to collapse. A vacuum collided with the black ball, slowing it ever so slightly. Digby's weapon started to come around. It crashed into the other and threw it off course just enough so that it would miss the whole target in the end. But of course the man's ball wasn't going to throw in the towel so easily. It slowed a bit and changed its course sharply, coming for its opponent at an alarming pace. The blue ball quickly adapted its axis of rotation and dropped a few inches under the black one, rolling beneath it gracefully. Anticipating this move, the black ball whirled back the other way, but the other was already level again, and rolled this time above the attacker, flying high into the air. The end of the lane was approaching fast. Forty feet, thirty-five, thirty...

Then something happened that Digby's weapon did not expect. The man's ball split in half, and each of the halves circled around their target from opposite sides. They launched themselves brutally towards it, but the blue ball was too quick. Each of the halves divided again. Soon there was a swarm of black shards, assaulting Digby's ball like a hive of angry bees. There was nowhere to turn, and the swarm converged. In the midst of a desperate escape attempt, Digby's ball was shattered under the force, transforming most of it into thick dust, but its jagged lower half dropped down to the polished wooden lane and skipped off, cutting at the air like a helicopter blade as its rotation slowed. Now there were ten feet to the wall. The black shards struggled madly to change their course, but their inertia was steadfast. Most of them plunged into the wall, remaining embedded, but one was able to skim the head of the far left pin. It spun wildly. The intact half of the blue ball stabilized against the lane on its round side and skidded along, slowing rapidly but headed in the right direction. It finally came to a halt when it bumped the front pin, which toppled over easily. 

Then everything was still.

"Yes!" blurted Pop.

"No!" cried the man.

Pop clutched Digby's hooves and hopped in circles around him. If the goat had lips he would have smiled. "We did it! We did it!" Then he stopped. "You did it, Digby. You're amazing!"

"Look," said the man. "I don't have the money on me..."

"I don't care about the money," Pop said to him giddily. He glanced at his goat friend. "I'm just glad Digby's okay!" Then he pointed back to his opponent. "Oh yeah, and that I beat you! Hahaha!" The man shuffled away, embarrassed.

"That was something else," said someone. It was the alley manager, who had apparently been watching the whole game. Pop and Digby faced him, beaming. He walked up to them, and offered his hand to the goat. Digby took it politely. "You're the best bowler I've ever seen, son. Now, I'm not sure what the rules here say about livestock as competitors, but I don't think you'll care about that anyhow. You might be able to butt horns with the best in the universe."

"What do you mean, 'in the universe'?" wondered Pop excitedly.

"There's a tournament coming up for the Universal Bowling Cup. It's on the Triple-Isle Planet, also known as Trips, in the Almond Joy Galaxy. I can pull some strings, and get you a spot. That is, if you'd like."

Pop contained himself and acted cool, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "What kind of prizes are we talking?"

"The grand prize is five thousand corona, but you shouldn't worry too much about that. The top twenty placements win some money also."

"What's a corona?" asked Pop, now drooling absentmindedly.

"One corona translates to something like twelve thousand dollars."

"Twe..." was all he managed to get out before his brain juice was soaked up by math. "That's like sixty million dollars! Digby! We'll be rich! Oh! You'll do it, won't you, Digby? You'll win that jackpot for us?"

Digby shrugged, then nodded.

"All right! Let's do it! You'll be the greatest bowler in the universe, and I'll be your manager. This is so exciting!" He turned to the manager. "When? Where? How? What should we bring? How soon do we pack? Is it summer there? How do we get there? Do I need sunscreen? Do I need my Canadian birds field guide?"

Author's Note

This is a first draft, so I'm looking for broad comments on elements like characters, plot, and style. Don't be afraid to be harsh.

Reviews

[Melissa Rose]

You have a good light hearted feel to this. It almost reads like a cartoon in places and it's very easy to understand. Your characters have good voices. If anything I noticed that takes away from the story it's over explanation with small actions.

You don't need to say they turned to see him, he walked towards them and than shook his hand. All you really have to say is he shook his hand (Or hoof) Back in the day details like that were welcome in writing, but now a days, with all these motion pictures, you can get away with only small insertions of action and leave the blanks up to the reader's imagination.

You also tend to explain emotion. It can be a challenge sometimes, but you should never have to say someone did this dejectedly, or did that happily. It's a case of showing vrs telling. You can show emotions through the dialog, what they say and how it's said, and through action. for instance:

"I don't care about the money," Pop said to him giddily. He glanced at his goat friend.

Can be changed to:

"I don't care about the money," Pop said with a grin so wide it hurt his cheeks. He glanced at his goat friend.

Or whatever other action you think he should do that portrays giddiness without actually mentioning the emotion.

Over all it's a very humorous read that I'm finding enjoyable and the pros outweigh the cons and the mention of other planets just made me even more interested.

[Aaron Browder]

Thanks so much! If it reads like a cartoon, it's probably because I'm a cartoonist. Interesting that you noticed that.. :)

This is great feedback. The issues you mentioned, I'm pretty sure are prevalent in all my writing. I'll work on them!

[Melissa Rose]

Do you draw as well? I'm glade I can help. I'll keep reading and let you know if I catch onto anything else.

[Aaron Browder]

I used to draw. I ran a webcomic for a couple years. This story is a continuation of that comic. Otherwise it wouldn't be so cartoony.

[Melissa Rose]

Ever thought of making it into a kids book? That way you wouldn't have to worry so much about word count being too low and you'll be able to put in some illustrations. I would love to see some by the way, I draw as well.

[Aaron Browder]

That's a pretty good idea. Kids books are foreign territory to me, though... Maybe I'll send you one of my comic strips.

[Melissa Rose]

Ya, that'll be a great idea. =D The tree that I used for my poem is something I drew recently.