The Increasingly Strange Life of Martin Blackman - Will Wallace (black authors fiction .TXT) 📗

Part one: Intro

 

Our story begins on a beach in North Carolina. I was sitting on the warm sand on a mid June day, basking in the dull glow of the overcast sky. It looked like it was going to rain. I didn't care. My slacks were already covered with sand and debris from the beach. Not to mention a bit of alcohol. I had just lost my job in a nearby accounting office and was in no position to impress anyone.

Suddenly there was a vibrating sensation in his right pocket. I pulled out my quaking phone to see that he had a call from his good friend, Billy Turkalino. I deftly swiped and and put the phone to my ear

"Hey" I said with a thick voice

"Look man I know it's been a while, but what are you doing right now"? He asked, he sounded like an ecstatic child at Christmas time who knew he was about to get that Nintendo 64.

"Nothing at all" I said, looking around at the deserted beach around me. " why? What's up?"

"How do you feel about experimental science?" He said with a wanting tone.

Part Two: Sand...wich

 

“I know very little about it, Billy, please tell me more” I said in a clear deadpan.

“Awesome” he said with a giddy relish “I'll be right there!”

“wait...!” I said quickly into my phone, shaking it with the hope that he would hear my words.

Suddenly, from across the beach, I saw Billy sprinting towards me.

He was dressed only in a robe and pajamas running at full speed with a manilla folder in one hand and a briefcase in the other. His long brown hair bouncing off of his shoulders. he had a strong jaw and a wide mouth that was usually in a big smile. not today. His face was contorted into a heavy scowl, due to this probably being his first time exercising in years. despite that fact, he managed to always be incredibly lanky and tall.

“Wait!” he shouted dropping a handful of paper from the folder into the sand. As he turned to go back for the paper, he promptly fell over and doused himself with a helping of sand.

I stared on in disbelief as my friend struggled to extricate himself from the ground.

“Shit...wait...don't move, i've got this” he said as he slowly managed to get himself back onto his feet.

He then managed to get upright and resumed his hasty sprint to me. At this point, I had stopped caring.

What the hell is he doing?

He finally managed his way over here and at the last ten feet, tripped over a piece of driftwood that had been lying in the sand and swiftly met his earthly fate once more.

“Fuck!” he shouted into the sand, the frustration in his voice rising to a palpable level. After a moment of violent thrashing in a blur of dark blue robe he threw it off in a rage and shouted at me.

“DON'T EAT THAT SANDWICH” pointing a long finger in my direction.

I looked down confused and saw a regular bologna sandwich in my hand. it appeared to be on white bread with a hint of mustard and some cheese that I couldn't place by simply looking at it. Naturally, I screamed and threw it away from me, my already partially alcohol inhibited brain being pulled in two by what had just occurred.

“How did that get there!” i shouted at him, highly  confused and not nearly ready to deal with this shit.

“Can't talk about it here. lets go. we have to go where THEY'RE not listening to us” he said, his eyes sliding around the beach.

I began to get up, making sure that i had my beer and my briefcase.

Suddenly, the mysterious sandwich jumped up off the ground at me like a pissed off weasel who was tired of yo Ishh.

I was rooted by the ground by the bizarreness of what i was seeing coming at me. so, when Billy told me to move, i couldn't. probably didn't help that i was halfway through a six pack of guinness.

The sandwich slapped onto my face with a curious “Pft” sound, with a slight accentuation on the “t” sound. the sandwich had blocked my vision. it was survival at this point. i began to try to slap the lunchy fiend off of my face and free myself of this Floury prison, to no avail as it seemed that the crumbs were beginning to bind with my face particles.

Then, From nowhere, a palmful of Billy’s hand slapped across my face with a force equivalent to a sexually frustrated lumberjacks’ wifi cutting out when it was personal time. With a heavy pop, the not so happy hoagie flew from my face. it landed in the grass with a “pff” sound and gave an angry grunt. it turned on me and i could see in it's cheese that it was personal this time. it began to rear up to pounce again, but this time...i was gonna be ready for it.

Part Three: Office Space

The sandwich had hate in it's crust. I should have known since the beginning. I quickly took one of the bottles and smashed it open against Billys’ prosthetic leg. brown shards of glass flew into the sand like shrapnel, leaving me with my patented “hobo scalpel”. I brandished the bottle in front of me, slowly but calmly waving it in a tight circle. The sandwich began to wobble slightly and a growling sound emanated from within its porkish underbelly. It was go time. This was the point of no return.

The sandwich sprang towards me with a blinding display of speed. I could only react to the speeding Dagwood. I sliced at the air in one single swipe and felt the sandwichs’ wheatey flesh carved away by the bottle.

With a sense of finality, I heard the sandwich hit the ground with a dulcet "Plf". The battle was over.

" Billiam Reginald Turkalino... Why the .FUCK. DID  A GODDAMNED, BOLOGNA-AND-CHEDDAR-SONOFABITCH JUST TRY AN KILL ME" I shouted him in what I felt was a justified way.

"I'm pretty sure that it was muenster cheese actually." He said, Quickly crouching down and examining the sandwich "we need to get out of here."

Next thing I know, Billy and I are in my car, headed for his mother's house. Billy was incessantly scribbling down equations on the paper in his folder. He was muttering to himself like an insane man.

I began to space out and my thoughts slowly drifted back to my termination earlier today.

Mr. Frohike had called me into his office around noon, right before I headed to lunch. I entered his small, sparsely furnished office. The light overhead shone with a cold, slightly green tint. Mr. Frohike was a small squirrel of a man with small, unpredictable hands and a horrible combover that attempted to cover his shiny scalp.

"Mr. Blackman... You have been here for two months... How are you liking it here?" He said, his voice sounded like to oil.

"It's not too bad, I find myself enjoying it more and more everyday"

"Excellent...." He said in what I could only equate to a real life bond villain's voice. then he leaned forward as if to say something but simply stared on. it seemed as though his brain were buffering. I bet if i had looked closer i probably would have seen a little rainbow wheel turning on his forehead.

.....

....

I could hear his analog clock ticking behind me. Each stroke of the ticker sounded like a landmine. His steely grey eyes remaining transfixed on me. I began to pray that a jet engine would plow through the windowless walls of the office. his gaze made me uncomfortable in ways that only animals in a zoo can understand.

After what seemed like an inordinately obscene amount of time, he finally broke his gaze upon me and looked down at some folders, as though he had just finished some long day of work

“Well, mr blackman, i'm sorry to hear that this has happened but rules are rules” he said in a somewhat disappointed way.

“Wait, what?” i said, completely bewildered.

“We’re going to have to fire you, son” he said, now avoiding eye contact “ Turn in your security pass and clean out your desk”

“What for!” i said loudly.

“what do you mean?” he asked “ you know what you did, now get out of here!”

And with that i was at the broomcloset that was my cubicle, putting my personal effects into a filing box. The only things there i actually owned were my phone charger and my personal journal that i kept in my breast pocket at all times. it was laying on the desk, flipped open. on it was written the words “Roller rink, Booty shorts, Skates, Disco...”. i studied the words for a moment before promptly placing the book back into my suit pocket as one of the security guards walked up to me.

“ready to go?” he asked me. His nametag read ‘Steven’

“yeah...i guess” i said as i placed the phone charger into my pocket.

thinking fast i also grabbed the cup of pens and began walking with the guard to the front doors. the receptionist, Deborah, eyed me with a plaintive, questioning look and gave me a small wave as i walked out into the foyer. I stood in there in silence for a moment with stephen and my cup of pens.

“.......I'm not sure what to say” Stevin began

“It's fine....i think, i got no hard feelings with you bro” I said, feeling hollow, still in shock from everything that had just happened.

With that i stepped out the door into the dull glow of the day, just a few blocks down was the beach....seemed like a good enough place as any for the situation.