Hello, and… Goodbye!
by Max Stokols
Velvet Memory opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The fan was on. He watched it spinning for a few minutes, then tried to watch each individual blade. Eventually, he got dizzy, and sat up. Outside the window, it was still the middle of the night. It was always night there. Still in a daze, he muttered “Welcome to Moonside…” He was still asleep. He was spouting nonsense.
The neon blinking of the buildings outside helped pull his eyes open, and he got out of his bed. He was halfway through getting dressed, when he realized he hadn’t showered. He couldn’t remember if he had showered the night before. He tried to remember, but all he could find was the ceiling fan. I guess I just slept last night, he thought.
He looked in the mirror to put on his tie. He had a blond flat-top and bronze skin. He was skinny and not particularly muscular, and had a scar on his shoulder. He didn’t remember what the scar was from, but he scratched at it anyways. Pieces of scab were still coming off.
Vel grabbed an energy bar out of a box on his bedside table, then ran outside. He got into the elevator as he tore the energy bar open with his teeth. It tasted like crap. They always tasted like crap, but he always bought them anyways. He offered it to the woman in the elevator with him. “Why?” she asked. He stuffed the bar into his pocket.
In the lobby, he saw a red flag at his mailbox. He pulled out his keys and looked for the mail key. None of them looked like a mail key. In fact, he didn’t recognize any of them. There were about twenty keys on the metal ring, and he found that they each had little notes on them. Room, Bsmnt, Office, Fish, Black, Pool, BckDr, Fuse, Ngbr, Hat, Spank, Grge, but no Mail. Someone else came up next to him and pulled out his keys. Vel watched him, but he seemed just as confused. Vel gave up.
He walked out of the apartment and looked around to find his office building. It was southerly, sticking out above the rest of the skyscrapers like a spotlight probing the blank sky. The buildings looked like only the frames actually existed; it was hard to discern the walls from the sky. Around him, people stumbled about in a daze. A stray clock and her litter were curled up in a corner.
A boy of eight years old with a stack of newspapers jumped out in front of him. “Welcome to Moonside!” he said.
“This is Moonside?” Vel asked.
“No.”
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
“What is?”
Vel paused. “Why did you say that?”
“Because I wanted to know what is interesting.”
“Yes, before that. ‘Welcome to Moonside.’”
“Moonside.” The boy repeated. “Mooonsid Emonsde Noom Edis. I don’t know.”
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“I said that same thing earlier. But I didn’t know why.”
“But you didn’t know what.”
“Right.”
The boy didn’t seem to be getting frustrated. Vel was. He was scratching the scar on his arm.
“Do you know why you said it?” Vel asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you find that strange?”
The boy thought. “Not really. I guess what I find strange is your irrational aversion to saying something without having a logical reason to do so.”
“Is that strange?”
“Very.”
“Stranger than actually saying the something?”
“Do you know what you’re talking about right now?”
As a matter of fact, Vel had lost track of what he was talking about and even who was talking. He answered truthfully. “Yes.”
“In that case, do you want to buy a newspaper?”
Vel pulled a coin purse out of his back pocket and gave the boy four quarters. In exchange, he received a stack of pearl-white paper; all of them were absolutely blank. He looked up at the boy with disgust on his face.
“I guess nothing newsworthy happened yesterday,” the boy said, then walked away. “Oh, and don’t forget to pay your respects to the Mani Mani!”
Vel crumpled up a page and threw it into a trashcan. He put the rest in his briefcase.
The walk to his office was a short one. It was a simple jog down one street, a turn, another jog, another turn, and he was there. He was glad it was so close, he hated mass transit. The one time he had been on a bus disgusted him so much he never wanted to do it again.
But today, around the first turn, a shrill barking startled him. He peeked around the corner and saw a fire hydrant yapping frantically at two preadolescent boys. The hydrant inched forward, then leapt back, barking manically. The two boys stared down at the animal, grinning evilly, and pulled out a baseball bat and a pellet gun. The hydrant, having no idea what such things as weapons were, continued its defensive position. Vel cringed. The boy with the bat struck first, clobbering the hydrant over the head with his blade. The impact made a sloshing cracking noise, and Vel collapsed. He tried to look away, but in the shining void of the building in front of him, he could see the reflection. He couldn’t close his eyes. The second boy pointed his gun at the wretched creature and his finger pulled the trigger. The hydrant fell silent. Vel waited for the assassins to leave, but even now they didn’t. The boy the bat felt the animal’s pulse. It was still breathing. He stood up and wound his leg back—crunch. The ribs. Even now, it was still breathing. Vel couldn’t take anymore. He scrambled off the ground and ran away from the assailants, the dying hydrant. He ran, hunched over, and sobbing, until he finally sat down in front of a café. A woman asked if he wanted something to eat. He yelled at her until she went away.
He cried for an hour, and when he was completely dried out, he rose on his quaking legs and continued on his way to work. He didn’t want to go past the spot again, so he tried to catch a bus. There weren’t any bus stops.
The lights said “Monotoli,” and each letter was five stories tall. This building, too, looked like only a frame of neon lights. Vel was relieved when he walked through the doors and found a lobby in front of him. It was filled with people rushing around with important looking papers in hand; far too many people to be in a lobby, Vel realized. The people weren’t even going anywhere, just back and forth.
In the center of the rush was a tall golden statue. Two horns sprouted from its temples, and a shining sword rested in his hands. Its hollow eyes followed Val’s movements; they followed everyone’s movements. Somehow, without even thinking about it, he found himself at its feet. It was held atop a single filing cabinet, and Vel’s eyes were level with its toes. Mani Mani. The silent authority the statue held was bursting at its metal joints. Without even being able to move it swung its sword like a conductor’s baton, controlling each and every useless footstep in its busy castle.
Vel looked at his watch. The face of it was blank. He turned around and ran back through the gridlock to the elevator.
He pressed a button and a cage dropped down. The door slid open to reveal a stout bellhop. Vel walked inside; it was narrow and the ceiling was low.
“Which floor?”
“12.”
“12?”
“No.”
The bellhop pressed 12. The elevator started to rise. Slowly. After a minute, they had hardly reached the third story. The elevator music, whatever it was, had reached the end of the track. The only sound was the rhythmic, hollow static of an empty record; each drop of the needle felt like it was right against his eardrum. Scraape thud. Scraape thud. Scraape thud. Vel had to lean over to fit in the elevator, and his face was in the bellhop’s hair. He was humming to himself.
“What’s taking so long?” Vel asked.
“You’re too heavy.”
“Too heavy?”
“This elevator wasn’t really made for more than one person.”
“Are we going to crash?” Vel asked.
“Fall?”
“Break?”
“Splat?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
So the Bellhop said they weren’t going to fall. Yes meant no, and he said yes. So… no. “Hey,”
“No?”
“Does that feel weird to you at all?”
“A little.”
“Huh,” Vel mused.
“They were falling down a little, but I got a belt.”
“What?”
“A belt.”
Vel shook his head. “Yes, I meant saying yes when you mean no, and visa versa.”
“Well—”
“I mean, you think ‘yes,’ but you say ‘no’. It doesn’t really make sense.”
“Well, I think it’s to confuse… them.” He pointed his thumb towards a wall of the cell.
“Who?”
The bellhop chuckled. “Who indeed. You met them.”
Vel tried to remember everyone he’d met that day. Not very many people.
“You were afraid. You ran. Crunch. Ringing any bells?”
The hydrant. “Them?”
“Then again, that’s just my theory.”
“What do they have to do with anything?” Vel stuttered.
“Everything. Maybe. Again, it’s just my theory.”
“Do you know why you know that?”
“Yes.”
Vel sighed. “Let’s just say what we mean to say, and not switch it around.”
“Why?”
“Because they aren’t watching us.”
“You don’t know that! Besides, again, it’s just my theory.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“They are—” the bellhop began, “Wait, we’re both talking about the same two people, right? The two kids, one with a bat, one with a gun, killing everything?”
Vel gulped. “Yeah.”
“Good, because it would be embarrassing if we weren’t even on the same page.”
“It would.”
“The prophecies say, or so I’ve heard, that these two boys are on an important mission. They’re here to destroy the world.”
“What? Why!”
“Calm down. They only want to destroy this world to save another. It’s probably much nicer than this one, so I think it’s a decent tradeoff.”
“Where did you hear this prophecy?”
“The prophecy goes on to say,” the bellhop continued, “that they will kill our god. Like mini-Nietzsches. Then the world will end. Poof.”
Val was aghast. “Who are you?”
“I? Am who? It’s been a while,” he chuckled. “Let’s see: My name is Ricardo Mars. I was born here in Moonside with both my parents alive and well. When I was five, I wanted to be a fireman, but then when I was six, I wanted to be a policeman. I never wanted to be a bellhop, but I guess that you just can’t control those things. I went fishing with my father when I was ten, and caught a bass a foot long. My father was so proud of me, we had fresh bass for a month afterwards. I learned to play piano when I was eleven. I performed in front of the school later that year, but nobody liked my music. I wrote it myself, so I was very disappointed. But my parents still loved me. I just didn’t play piano after that. When I was six, I guess I forgot something, I had a little brother. I hated him for stealing my parents so I killed him. When I was seven, my parents sent me to an institution, and I never saw them again. When I was seventy, I caught another bass, but it was smaller. I never caught such a big one as when I was ten. When I was twelve, my parents took me to an opera, and my little brother kept kicking my seat, so I couldn’t enjoy it at all. When I was two-hundred—”
“Stop.”
“…for three years, but I released it when I got bored with it. I let him back out at the lake, and he was eaten by a duck shortly after. That’s why I don’t like ducks.”
“Stop!”
“No one could crack a whip like he could. Of course, I knew men who could crack bubblegum, or whatever you do with bubblegum, pop I guess, but in order to pop, you must blow a bubble,”
“Stop! Just shut up! Shut up!”
“I realized my dream of going to bellhop school when I was twenty. I was taught by the best of them, Master Ambrose Rose Rose Toes. He knew just how to press a button, different kinds of buttons, how to request a tip from different types of customers, and he taught me everything I know!”
“Shut up!” Vel punched the bellhop in the jawbone as hard as he could. The man stopped. Vel didn’t think it was hard enough, so he punched him again. And again.
“I stopped,” the bellhop said calmly, through his bloody jaws. “I get it.”
Vel stopped. He put his hand slowly to his side, then jammed it into his pocket so it would not strike again. “Just stop.”
“I stopped.”
Vel sobbed.
“Your stop.”
Vel looked up, and the elevator doors were open. It was his floor. He ran out of the tiny prison as fast as he could. The bellhop smiled feebly and waved. The doors closed, and the elevator fell back down to the first floor.
The meeting room was completely stagnant. The black walls and neon lights overhead made it seem more like a night club, but twenty men and women in suits and ties sitting on either side of the conference table made it seem like a mortuary. A large man in a white suit and a parasol stood at the head of the table.
“Velvet, you’re two hours late. We couldn’t start the meeting without you!”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Do you even know what time work starts?”
He looked at his watch. “Yes.”
“Seven. The time is now nine. That is two hours later than seven.”
“Sorry.”
“This is the third day in a row you’ve been late. If you can’t pull your act together, we’re going to have to let you go.”
“Sorry, Mr…”
“Call me Mr. Chop.”
“Sorry, Mr. Chop. It won’t happen again.”
Mr. Chop pointed his parasol at an empty seat, nearly poking a woman in the eye. Vel sat. Mr. Chop then began to talk. “I’ve called this meeting today for an important reason I’m sure you already know. Sales in Clothes hangers were 2 cents lower than eggs were five years ago. We need all your capitalistic know-how in order to get back on top.”
Mr. Chop looked up and down the haggard workers with the shape of pride and comfort in his face. Vel immediately realized that it was all bull.
He poked a neon light with his parasol and the light shattered, covering the table with broken glass. The employees were too tired to even flinch. “This glass… is eggs. No, the light was eggs, and the glass is our victory march. This, is our hangers. The umbrellas of the working man! If you all had one of these, you wouldn’t have gotten covered in glass. Did you write that down?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Chop, why do you need me here?”
The fat pig turned towards Vel. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“What exactly does this company do?”
He shuffled his feet. “Why, you’ve worked here ten years and you don’t know?”
“I don’t remember working here ten years.”
“I do. I’ve been your mentor since day one!”
“Have you?”
“Take my word for it.”
Vel’s head hurt. He didn’t want to admit that Mr. Chop was right, he still didn’t accept it himself, but he sat down. He scratched his shoulder.
A man sitting three seats away from him tried to motion Vel to get back up and resume the fight. He was too tired. So he sat. And for three hours, Mr. Chop talked about eggs and rope and salsa, he pulled out pie charts and bar graphs, and after the three hours was over, he cleared his throat and announced a half an hour lunch break.
He paired Vel and the man three seats away together. He told them that they ate together every day, and should do the same today. They walked to a giant empty cafeteria, and for a long time didn’t talk.
“So,” the other man asked, “What’s your name?”
“You’ve known me for ten years, and you don’t even know my name?”
“That was a lie.”
“He was? Good, because I don’t know your name.”
“Your name?”
“Oh… yeah. Velvet Memory.”
“Velvet?”
“What’s yours?”
“Carl Carl.”
“Carl is your last name, too?”
“I can only assume.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a stupid name; it sounds like it was just pulled out of someone’s ass. I’m not going to waste my time trying to decipher it.”
“…Oh.” Vel scratched at his shoulder.
Carl cleared his throat. “You can’t let people tell you what’s right and wrong. He doesn’t know any more than you do.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Why were you late?” Carl asked.
“I didn’t know what time was late and what time was early.”
“Huh.”
Vel looked around the cafeteria. There wasn’t anywhere to get food. And they had half an hour. “It’s unfair, that he should be able to push us around like that, Chop. He has too much power. I think there may be some kind of conspiracy going on, I’ve been watching the people in here…”
“Not a conspiracy, just pointless.”
“Pointless? What do you mean?”
No one cares that he’s abusing his power. A higher power would do something about it if it mattered. But no one has. It doesn’t matter. Let him have fun with whatever time he has left.”
“I guess.”
“When you woke up today, did you know where you were?” Carl asked.
“Yes.”
“You did?”
“I said ‘yes.’”
“Just say what you mean.”
“…No.”
“Humph. Do you remember yesterday?”
“What?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Vel tried to remember yesterday, but all his memories were trapped behind a spinning ceiling fan, and each individual blade looked like a dagger. “Yes. Er, no.”
“No one does,” Carl exclaimed. “I must have asked fifty people today, and all of them are as confused as the next. No one knows what the hell is going on!”
“Today certainly does feel surreal, doesn’t it?”
“Surreal nothing! It’s like someone taped us all together this morning, woke us up, and left us to our own devices. Sewn together like a theater wardrobe for a week-run show.”
“Why?”
Carl stood up. “Filler.”
“Fluff?”
“White noise. We’re here to make it seem like something is going on.”
“For them?” Vel’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Them?” Carl said loudly. “They seem like the only sane ones here.”
“You saw them?’
“They’re not confused like everyone else. Slightly disturbed, maybe, but they have a goal.”
“They’re monsters.”
“Saviors.”
“You know they want to kill our god.”
“Mani Mani?”
“They want to pop this world.”
Carl scoffed. “I know.”
Vel shuffled nervously. He unbuttoned his shirt to get a better path to his shoulder.
“They know what they want. They will come, do it, leave, and we will go with them. It’s only a matter of time.”
“So, really, why are we here?”
Carl stared at the wall. “In this world, or building?”
“We’ve been talking about world, I thought. Building, now.”
“Because you walked here.”
“I mean, what’s keeping us here?” Vel asked.
“Nothing.”
“What would happen if we stood up and left?”
“Nothing.”
“What are the consequences of us not leaving?”
“Nothing.”
“What if I killed someone?”
“Nothing.”
“Stole. Armed robbery.”
“Nothing.”
“What if I come on time tomorrow?”
“Nothing.”
“What do we have to gain?”
“Nothing.”
“Lose? At all?”
“Again.”
Vel stopped for breath. Although he didn’t want to believe it, it made the most sense.
“Really, the only reason we exist at all is because we were placed here. Now we are just waiting.”
“I don’t want to believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe, it’s truth.”
“Nothing matters.”
“Exactly.”
“No higher power?”
“Maybe.”
“Really?”
“Well, I wouldn’t really want a god who created this. Also, your arm fell off.”
Vel thought of the Mani Mani staring into the crowd, its meticulous control. “Yeah, I guess.” He scratched his shoulder.
“It’s on the floor. It fell off.”
“What did?”
“Your arm.”
Vel looked down. There was a human arm on the ground next to him. There wasn’t any blood, so it had probably been there for a long time. “Has that been there the entire time?”
“No! It just fell off! It’s yours!”
Vel already had his arm on his shoulder, so he felt around for his limb. Carl was right: his arm ended at the shoulder; a clean stump.
“Makeshift. Worthless,” Carl said.
Vel screamed.
“It should be as good as new,” the nurse told him.
Vel’s arm hung worthlessly at his side, held on by eleven and a half staples. The nurse put the stapler back in its drawer and pushed Vel off the bed.
“Now, you have work. You’re late.”
Vel walked back to his office. Every time he took a step, his arm thumped against his leg, chaffing his ribs and armpit. He opened the door to the conference room with his off hand. Again, Mr. Chop was waiting with his arms folded.
“Velvet, you’re two hours late. We couldn’t start the meeting without you!”
“Right.” He sat down in his chair. “Where’s Carl?”
The man beside him started snickering. His nostrils flared and lips quivered, like he was about to sneeze. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Vel jumped.
“Yup. Killed himself. Off the edge of the building.”
“Dead?” Mr. Chop said. “Oh my.”
“You know what his last words were? I do! I heard him! He said ‘This is stupid,’ then threw himself off!”
“Well, there’s still a chance he never hit the ground, right?” Mr. Chop said.
The man paused. “Maybe. We were so high up, I never actually saw or heard him hit the ground. He just went off the edge.”
“Well, it’s the impact that really kills you. He might still have a chance!”
“What are you talking about?” Vel said. “If anything, that’s proof he’s dead!”
“Dead? Oh my. A terrible loss for the company.”
“The company?” Vel said.
“And why were you so late?”
“My arm fell off.”
“Off? Oh my. A terrible loss to the company.”
Vel looked up incredulously. “I lost an arm. Carl lost his life!”
“Well, the distinction escapes me. In the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Now then, onto business.”
Vel stood up. “It doesn’t matter.” He picked his coat up off the back of his chair and threw it to the ground. When that didn’t make a large enough noise, he threw his chair to the ground. Mr. Chop watched calmly. Emotionlessly. Vel walked out the door and slammed it behind it. When he turned around, the Mr. Chop’s jaw hadn’t even dropped. Vel walked out of the building. Nothing happened.
He pressed the button for the elevator, and nothing came. He walked down the stairs. In the lobby, the same people were walking back and forth with the same folders of blank papers. That’s what people would do if they worked in a big office building like this. Walk back and forth with important documents, in a room with one filing cabinet and one door. Fluff.
He walked outside. He couldn’t see Carl anywhere. When Mr. Chop had mentioned it, Vel felt a spark of hope that Carl hadn’t hit the ground. Now he realized it didn’t matter. As turned the corner to leave, he saw them. Them. The one still had his bat out, resting on his shoulder. The other was reloading his pellet gun with a fresh canister of green gas. Vel shuddered and snuck past them. They seemed bored. Judging by the fresh coat of red paint in the child’s bat, they had done a lot of damage in their short stay. In a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter what they had done.
Vel made his way to the street he had first seen them. He found his briefcase propped up against a trashcan, even though he didn’t remember leaving it. He picked it up, and curled up behind it was the corpse of the fire hydrant. Vel put his hand on its belly to feel its once warm softness. It was still breathing. Its eye slowly opened, saw Vel, then closed.
Vel stood up to walk away. He tried not to look back; it would be out of its misery soon. A stray tear dripped off the end of an eyelash and landed in his mouth. Vel stopped. Every minute he debated, another minute was lost to the hydrant forever. He turned around, opened his briefcase and pulled the pearl white newspaper out of it. He scooped the creature up and wrapped it in the paper like a blanket then cradled it as best he could in his one good arm. Vel left his briefcase in the alley propped against the trashcan where he found it. The hydrant looked up at him again, then closed its eyes. It stuck out its tongue and licked his fingers. Vel stroked the animals head with his tears, and smiled.
Apartment. Mailboxes with all their red flags still up. Elevator. A woman came down in it, but didn’t get off. Vel stepped in and stared at the doors patiently. It was much nicer than the one at his office building, and he almost felt happy just to be in it. The woman stared longingly at his pocket.
“Um, excuse me?” she said.
Vel looked at her.
“That energy bar you offered me earlier—that was you, wasn’t it? Do you still have it?”
Vel stuck out his pocket, and the woman reached inside. She grabbed the energy bar and devoured it.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Sure.”
“…What’s your name?”
“Velvet. Memory.”
“I’m Twilight Breeze. It’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, and Vel swung his arm towards her. She grabbed it and shook it. “Maybe we could get together sometime?”
“Sure.” He said, surprised. Twilight scratched the hydrant’s head.
Room. Vel pushed to door open and placed the hydrant on the foot of the bed. He peeled off the dark red newspapers and wrapped it up in a blanket. It wasn’t moving.
Vel crawled underneath the covers of his bed and stared at the ceiling. The fan blades swung around slowly, like waves: each overtaking the one before it. Vel tried to imagine what Carl would think of what he was doing now. Would he approve or disapprove? Would he join him? It was too late to know. All Vel had to go by was himself. No one else could tell him what the right thing to do was. Then again, did it really matter what was right or wrong?
He pulled the covers up higher. Vel wondered if he stared at the fan long enough, if he could be sucked into it. If he could be pulled into it, flow within it, and come out the other side. The side with yesterday in it. He was sure of what tomorrow would be; the two children at his office building was proof of that. But if he could get away from today, its uncertain beginning and permanent end, could he enjoy yesterday better? He reached up to the fan and curled his fingers around it. But before he could get a steady grip, the blades moved and slipped out of his grasp. If he could have yesterday back, he would cherish it forever. Will I ever have a chance to get it, even a scrape of it, back?
A tearing scream pierced the charcoal sky. Vel looked out the window, and a light brighter than the entire city had erupted at the base of the Monotoli building. Its warmth canceled out the powerful glare of every building it touched, and they disappeared into the nothing.
Right before Vel
was devoured by the light, he said aloud: “I guess not.” And like a soap
bubble, Moonside inhaled one final breath and popped;
its remains crashed to the floor in a heap.
Jeff examined the cement storage
room. A few boxes labeled as hard coffee and a door to a back alley. They
hadn’t even left Jackie’s Café. He took
They decided to stay at a hotel
that night.
The café goers glanced up at them as the walked out of the hidden door, but then went back to their TV. It was a baseball game. They walked out the doors and were greeted by the sun for the first time in what seemed like years. Jeff pointed the way to the hotel.