Quirky Quixotic Quilts Quack Queens

The hardware store across the road sells televisions. They have their display set up in the window so you can watch sixteen or so different screens of the exact same channel at the exact same time.
 
The manager changes it on a schedule. At six a.m. he puts on the news. At ten he switches to sports. At one in the afternoon, it's cartoon time. At two, you can watch crime shows. At six it's back to news, and at eight he turns the TVs off while the night passes.

At seven thirty one in the evening I saw something that scared me. I didn't really catch any of the names, save one. I don't much care about names anymore. And in the end, I don't care to retell the whole story.

Girl. Young. Had a life to live. Disappeared. Cross-country killing spree. Not detected. Until now.

What she saw during her travels was so bad that she would rather mutilate herself than see it again. She would rather stab out her own eyes than -

And I thought I had it bad.

Her hospital room - she's not quite dead yet - is being guarded, said the anchorman. I'm sure I could make it to Arizona, but...I'm afraid. I'm afraid of getting in another scrape with the police. I'm afraid of being helpless. I'm afraid of making it worse.

I'm afraid of what I might see. I'm afraid that I might see some small remnant of her nightmares, and I'm afraid I wouldn't ever be able to stop running.

But I still have my mind and heart and soul and body, and blood still passes through my veins, and I would say a thousand prayers that I might not be guilty, that I might not have a pained conscience.

Poor Lea Ritter.

El techo, el techo, el techo está en llamas 
El techo, el techo, el techo está en llamas
No necesitamos agua
Deje al hijo de puta quemar
Quema, hijo de puta
Quema

49

smiled gently. "It'll be all right." Her face shone like the morning sun.

"It doesn't feel very all right." The man was angry. He was tired, and scared, and sad, but mostly he was angry.

"That's because it's not the end." The new voice came from behind. Something

51

The man awoke from the so-called unending slumber for the umpteenth time. Once again he had no memory of his past but for a few fragments - those fragments that would turn out to be the most important parts. Tiny seeds planted themselves in his head, urging him to go forward and recover his memories. He had known this would happen again, and so decided to leave reminders for himself scattered about, in the hope that he could find what had been lost.

Little did he know how hard it would be, but that wasn't the issue just now. The issue now was getting his bearings, and dealing with the Giant standing on the horizon line.

The man looked down at himself. He wasn't high up in a tree this time, or way down below the ground, or face-planted in a ditch. He wasn't completely out of the woods, though, in more ways than one - he was slumped up against the base of a huge fir. He wasn't wearing much - pants and an undershirt, and hiking boots. But to his left was a large black duffel bag. He looked inside and saw a strange assortment of items.

A long spear, almost like a knight's lance, but not quite. More like a pike. Its tip glowed faintly in the shadows of the afternoon light. Underneath the pike was an old and worn, yet sturdy, wooden crossbow, just the right size to be held in one hand in an emergency, its tips fashioned out of the same material as the pike - perfect for hooking and smashing. A smaller, reinforced leather satchel within the duffel bag seemed to contain several dozen crossbow bolts. The man couldn't be sure, but he thought that they were made of the same strange metal-like substance. Lastly there was a wallet and a Kevlar vest, which he quickly put on. Better to be safe than sorry.

The man zipped up the bag and looked around again. He was just about to get up when there was a barking noise from somewhere behind him. A huge St. Bernard quickly trotted out of the woods and began licking him about his face. The suitably huge keg of brandy around its neck got in the way some, but the man didn't mind. He tried to ask what her name was, but found that he couldn't - he had no tongue.

But the dog seemed to understand. It composed itself, then, very slowly, said, "Don't be scared."

When the man showed no sign of running away the dog continued. "I don't remember anything either. But we're a part of each other." The man nodded - the dog seemed to feature very prominently in what little memories he had left. "Now. Let's go get him."

The man nodded again and got up. The dog crouched down, offering her back for him to ride, and they rode off toward the Giant in the distance. Or was it a windmill? Something about it was spinning around, for sure.

They arrived within seconds. There It was, in all Its horrible glory. Its tentacles stopped twirling about and the Giant leaned down as if to talk to the man.

The man found he could speak with the dog inside their minds - simple thoughts, but it was enough. He could talk through her when needs must.

"Are you my goal?" asked the man, through the dog.

The Giant said nothing.

"Are you my god?" continued the man.

The Giant said nothing.

"Are you my gallows?" asked the man, and then the Giant nodded.

Yes, said the Giant. 

The man, though overcome with a furious rage, patted the dog on its neck, and they rode away without a backward glance, looking for some trace of civilization.

While they rode into the night, the man tried to make sense of it all. What should I do? he wondered.

Almost immediately another voice answered. Find the hammer, said the voice.

The man pondered this for a moment. And who am I? he inquired.

The voice took a while before it answered. When it finally did, it wasn't very helpful.

You are many things, and many men, said the voice. You were. But now?

The voice did not continue until the dog finally tired and they had to rest for the night.

You will have no name. You are the Knight-Errant.

4

a pretty stupid thing to ban," the man said. He took a swig from his brandy flask, and dozed off.

The truck driver shook him awake some time later. The man looked around and saw that they were at a small but efficient rest stop. He got out of the truck and turned to thank his friend, but the truck had disappeared. There were no tracks behind him on the road, and no tracks ahead - this left the man feeling very confused, but it was apparent from the setting sun that they had gone quite a ways.

The stop had a convenience store, a gas station, and a Bed and Breakfast. It was at the latter of these that the man checked into, as he had plenty of money left over. He chatted with the landlady awhile, doing his best to get some hold on current events, but he didn't manage much. She was rather isolated out here in little corner of peace, but the rates were good and the sheets were clean, so there was nothing to complain about.

He fell asleep easily under woolen patchwork quilts depicting scenes of victory and great men and women of history - Solomon? George Washington? Betsy Ross? Was that - yes, it was - Jesus.

The man pulled the soft cloth over his eyes

Perilous Proxies Preach Pixellated Potions

In short, we located this girl and went with her to battle these men to save this boy.

But the entire story...well, it's a bit longer than that.

It was easy to discover where Candle was hiding. It was easy to get into the motel room, and it was easy to convince Trinity to trust us. But it was hard to point my weapon at the traitor to humanity, and it was harder to walk away. I vowed once to be ruthless. To dispose of Its servants whenever possible. But I suppose it just wasn't, today.

Candle tells the truth, or close enough to it. I believe he got some of Rocinante's Latin wrong, and perhaps he was a little unfair in his description of me, but I can't blame him. And he makes jokes, anyway - just a defense mechanism - they do not harm me. Sticks and stones. In any case I could not knowingly kill Candle when it would mean Trinity's death, a near-certainty at the hands of the monstrous Kobold. That would be - would be as unforgivable as giving up, another of my many vows. But when I walked away, I did so without looking back, or I might not have been able to resist.

I don't have a driver's license in any state; at least not one anyone's decided to tell me about. But I'm a competent enough chauffeur, though I hesitate to use the word. Rocinante rode in rear of the pick-up, with Trinity and Timothy by her side, catching up on their rather eventful past couple of weeks and asking my long-time companion questions when they thought of them, though she could not usually answer. I sat alone in the cab.

We stopped once on the way home, to buy ice cream. I decided to spend my dwindling reserves on the children - after all, they needed something comforting after all they'd been through. Trinity had a vanilla shake, Timothy a king-size Butterfinger; and I had nothing, and Rocinante had nothing, as we're used to hunger.

We were able to arrive at the Mansion without difficulty. As the children had others to take care of them, I did not plan to stay long, but the keeper of their home - Mystery - insisted we stay some nights.

Well, it can't hurt.

Operation Osprey Orders Old Officers

Well, we've arrived, and done some scouting. Now to get inside...