From Eb
And so the Prophet lingered, somewhere in time-space, or Oklahoma, or Alderaan, or maybe even Geekerz. He was lingering somewhere, though, and that’s what mattered.
Because when you’re alone, lingering’s about the only thing you can do.
You can linger with somebody, but why do that when you can save universes or swap witty dialogue?
Those kinds of creatures had receded from the Prophet’s world, impossibly sudden and different. There were pretenders out there, sure, and they were welcome sorts, but they weren’t On The Level™.
Friends had absorbed themselves and disappeared. The Faraway had been impossibly distant, cold, and still.
And so the Prophet lingered. For billions of seconds or billions of eons. Whatever the timeframe, it had been too long.
And patience was running out.
And so, at the last minute, just like in any good story, he reappeared.
And there was a moment, a movie-fairy-tale moment, when the Prophet and this person look at each other, and in the space between each others’ eyes, invisible star fighters and anime beefcakes were blasting the shit out of each other.
Close up on the Prophet’s poochy face. “You.”
“Me.”
“What’re you doing he-
Prophet stopped as a Nerf dart bounced off his belly. It rolled on the floor.
“Oh come on!” said the person. “You left yourself wide fucking open! That’s a lame way to die, isn’t it!?”
“Since when did you do this?” said the Prophet, holding up the dart. “You never did this. Ever.” He looked down. “Well, a little.” He looked back up. “But not enough to matter!”
“I’m starting now. I’ve just revived you with a Phoenix Down. Take cover!” The person dove behind a computer, or a boulder, or a bar laden with drinks, and unloaded a flurry of darts.
The Prophet ducked down behind something else and held his hat to his head. Sand trickled out of it.
He hadn’t seen that sand in... forever. Exactly forever.
“Tell you what! You be Jet and I’ll be some thug looking for Red Eye. I’m gonna walk over to you all casual like, and then you fucking pounce!”
“I don’t have a fucking gun, Eb!”
There was a silence, a long embarrassing silence. Eb emerged from his hiding spot and walked towards Prophet, Nite-Finders dangling harmlessly in his hands.
“Well this disappointing. Someone steal your guns?”
Prophet bolted up and glared at Eb. It was strange. He didn’t act like this. Not before.
“Are you Molly? Are you Molly again? Because that was lame. Mega-super-ultra-motherfucking lame.”
Eb rolled his eyes. “No, Prophet, it’s me. It’s really me. See?” He tipped the edge of his cap up and let his eyes shine.
They were bright now, and clear. It was though someone spat on a cloth and polished them.
“Your hat!” cried Prophet. He ripped it off Eb’s head and looked at it. “Your bowler! Your mad black bowler! What have you done with it!?”
Eb grinned. “I once was called ‘Ebauchon the Black.’ Now some call me... Ebauchon the Gray.”
Prophet was nonplussed. Eb cleared his throat and darkened for the first time. “Things have changed, Prophet.”
Prophet half-closed his eyes and stared at Eb. “Yeah, no fucking shit.”
“But for the better!” He brightened again, excited as a child on Christmas, eager to tell his elders about the brand new videogame system he got.
“That can be debated. Where the fuck were you for the last billion years?” Prophet tossed the cap back to Eb, who caught it and held it to his stomach.
“I’ve only been gone a few months,” he said, slowly.
“Whatever. You were gone, man. Gone! I thought you left me! I thought you gave all this up!”
“I did... I had to. Changes had to be made. I had to take some time away from all this and... and see what’s out there,” Eb said, pointing to a swirling mass of stars.
“Yeah, and it made you an asshole,” said the Prophet, bitterly. “It made you a jerk, an idiot scoundrel. I remember when you were flaunting your shit like it smelled like roses, kid!” The Prophet picked up a piece of matter and threw it at Prophet. It burst into stardust.
“You were gonna be a big-time know-it-all. You were going to take a shit on the world and light it on fire. You were gonna show the world who was boss and make us regret the day any of us ever doubted you!
“I never fucking doubted you!” yelled Prophet. “Did it ever occur to you that I was always your friend? Your companion!? I remember when you were selfish and drawn and wane. I could literally feel you sucking the blood out of my face, you emotional vampire.
“When love took a shit on my heart, you threw it in my face. When my friend died, you threw it in my face. And after that, you expected me to carry you. You expected me to welcome you into my heart with open arms.
“Friendship’s a two-way street, buster. But our street hit a dead end long ago. I don’t know what you want, coming back after all this time, but you’re not getting it. You showed up just a second too late. The bomb went off. The hostages were killed. The Death Star blew up Earth. And I’m packing off to someplace else.
The Prophet snapped his fingers and a suitcase popped open before him. He upended his hat and a plethora of books, memories, toys and dreams spilled into the suitcase.
He took a last look at his hat, flicked a grain of sand away from it, and tossed it into a corner. He latched the suitcase up, and began walking out.
“What about all this?” asked Eb, gesturing to the unfathomable expanse surrounding them.
“You can keep it. Maybe you can turn it into the big expensive mansion you fancy writer types deserve.”
The Prophet turned and glared at Eb. “Oh and, buddy, do you deserve it.”
The Prophet opened a door and began walking that lonely sidewalk back towards Reality.
Eb appeared right behind him and kept pace.
“What’re you going to do?”
“Shit, I guess I’ll be a fucking adult. I’ll go to college. I’ll get a degree. I’ll get some know-nothing wife and squeeze out a few puppies. I’ll slide into retirement living on TV dinners and TV Land reruns. Then I’ll die, like a good American, with a trunk full of unfulfilled wishes.”
“Oh,” said Eb.
They kept walking.
“Luke Skywalker wouldn’t die that way.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“He’d, like, fly himself into his favorite sun in his Rogue Squadron X-Wing.”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“Then him and Ben Kenobi and Yoda and his daddy would have rockin’ dead-jedi keggers with twi’lek whores and sexy wookies.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. And it reeks of insincerity.” Prophet turned a quick glare to Eb before signaling a giant racing snail to stop. “Reeks.”
“Yeah, well, I’m new to this hero shit! You can’t expect me to fly out of the gates with the He-Man transformation chant memorized,” said Eb as he clambered onto the racing snail’s shell with Prophet.
“You? A hero? Implausible.” The Prophet paused. “Implausible and ridiculous. Insulting, even, to the very notions of what makes a hero.”
The racing snail lurched, speeding forward at an incredible rate. A street sign passed that said “REALITY - 12 MILES.”
“And it’s four words, man. Four fucking words!” Prophet held out a hand and counted his fingers. “I-Have-The-Power. Four.” He shook his head and sighed. “Not that they’ll have any effect where I’m going.”
“Aw, come on! Don’t stoop to this doom n’ gloom shit, Prophet! I know you better than this! I’m sorry I shat all over your message. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good friend! But I’ve made the change! I’ve gone through the effort and I’ve made the change!”
“What change!?” screamed Prophet. “Tell me one fucking thing you’ve changed about yourself besides this!” He flicked the rim of Eb’s cap.
“I’ve decided to have fun!” declared Eb.
“What?”
“I said I’ve decided to have fun!”
“I heard what you said, dingus. But what the fuck does that mean?”
“Exactly what it means. I’ve decided to let my guard down and enjoy myself for once!”
Prophet turned and looked at Eb with suspicion.
“I’m tired of trying to impress everybody with how detached I am from everybody else, because the only person I was impressing was myself. And when you’re your only best friend, it sucks.”
“Great!” screamed Prophet. “You’ve finally left the 8th grade! Welcome to society, you fucking troglodyte. Maybe now you’ll learn not to throw your shit at other people.”
“I’ve also realized that I’m not the best writer in the world.”
Prophet looked up. “There is a God,” he said.
“Very funny,” muttered Eb. The snail slimed to a halt, and Prophet leaped off the mollusk. Eb followed, and the snail left in a burst of smoke.
The two stood before a tunnel through an overpass. The shadows crawled beyond, innocuous and without form. A crude wooden sign pointed towards it, with the word REALITY spray-painted on it.
“Welp, it’s been a complete waste of time, Eb. I had fun, once, but I’ll be damned if I’ll remember it. So long, kid, it was real nice to know you.”
Prophet hoisted his suitcase and began walking towards the tunnel.
“Prophet, if you go back to-
“Eb, there isn’t a damn thing you can say to me that’ll change my mind right now.”
The Prophet kept walking, undeterred. He placed one foot in the shadows, and he felt his soul go numb.
Going numb was better than fettering unfulfilled.
He started to put the other foot in.
“I watched Serenity.”
The Prophet stopped.
“And I liked it.”
Prophet looked back at Eb, who was holding his hat with a fierce look on his face.
“I... I think my favorite part is the beginning. Where they rob the bank.”
Prophet took his foot out of the shadows and dropped his suitcase. He stormed towards Eb.
“The guard's all like ‘Hey, what’s the passcode.’ And then the muscle-dude shoots his gun and then guard’s all like ‘whoa!’ and then he says ‘okay!”
Prophet grabbed Eb’s shirt and glared at him.
“Don’t say this. Don’t say this about my show, Eb. You know what Firefly means to me. You know what Serenity means to me. You know that it means the fucking world to me and millions of others, and if you start taking shits in the last beautiful thing I have left in the world I will tear you apart.”
Eb giggled and Prophet shook him. “You’re fucking with me! Again! I knew it!”
“No! No! I think Joss Whedon’s actually pretty cool! The man’s a nerd savant! I mean, if you look at it, Titan A.E. is clearly a predecessor to Firefly and he’s a slave to pop culture! Look at Buffy, for crissakes. The musical episode? Holy shit!”
There was a pause.
“And I think that’s pretty cool!”
“You think!? You think it’s pretty cool!?” growled Prophet. He threw Eb down on the sidewalk and stood over him, clenching his fists.
Eb looked up, his lip trembling. Prophet’s eyes were two orange-hot coals. Eb was afraid, genuinely afraid.
“Lemme tell you something, fat-stuff...” said Prophet as he leaned in on Eb.
Eb turned his head and winced.
“IT IS PRETTY FUCKING COOL!”
Prophet grabbed Eb again and stood him upright, dusting off his clothes.
“And the only way it could be any cooler, stupid, is if Joss had a Buffy and Firefly crossover where Buffy and River double-team an entire crew of Reavers while blindfolded and their arms tied together!” screamed Prophet as he grinned ear to ear, his mouth full of white, mad teeth.
Eb grinned too and started in. “Yes, but what they don’t know is, during the fight, they cause Serenity and her crew to fly into a time-space rift that sends them to the battle of Endor, where they have to fly their ship to the core of the Death Star, which they discover to be the Dark Crystal!”
Prophet howled with glee. “And upon the destruction of the crystal, it is revealed that Darth-fucking-Vader is half Ancient and the Emperor is half Skeksi, and they meld into a beautiful being that casts the Death Star into another galaxy!”
“A galaxy that contains Middle Earth! And the Death Star falls into Mt. Doom, crushing Sauron in the process and negating the entire journey of the fellowship, sparing Frodo’s sanity and health and keeping the whole of Middle Earth in peace for all of fucking eternity!”
“All thanks to Joss Whedon!”
“Joss Whedon!”
“All hail Joss Whedon!”
“Joss Whedon is my master now!”
The men screamed at each other until their breath ran out.
The Prophet sagged, and let out a sigh.
“... have you really changed?”
“I’d like to think so. I feel better inside, I know that.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“You’ve helped me out a lot. Even when you weren’t there.”
“I’m tired.” The Prophet looked up. “Even though I’ve been waiting I’m tired as a dog. You’ve come around... but the heroism will have to wait for another day.
“I have to rest.”
Eb saluted. “Then allow me to carry and sing thee to thy rest, good sir.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Nope. Nope. If I’m gonna be a hero, I have to do it right.”
Eb started to sweep Prophet off his feet. He struggled, understandably.
“No, Eb, don’t. Please, I seriously don’t want you to do this.”
“There we go!”
Eb cradled Prophet in his arms, and began stumbling forward.
“God damn it, Eb. People are going to see us.”
“Fuck ‘em. Uh...” Eb paused. “You know, I could use a sunset here.”
The Prophet sighed, and then pointed towards a horizon. A fire-red sun dipped just below the beyond, and set the world aflame. Slowly, clumsily, Eb walked into it.
“You know, Prophet, I don’t think you would have made it out there.”
“Oh really? Why?”
“They make you wear shoes there.”
“Oh, fuck that.”