Note: I purposely used a genderless name as well as genderless pronouns, the singular they. Tell me if it works.
One fine evening upon the Mad God's mad world, a young boy pivots carelessly upon a rusted metal swing set.
"Jordan! Come inside, your daddy is home!"
Ah, the sweet banshee-esque voice of their beautiful mother, the child thought. They had better go inside, otherwise they would miss daddy coming home from work! With one final swing the child leaped off of the swing set, gracefully stumbling into the dirt and mud below. Elegantly they picked themself up, dusting themself off proudly as the kid stumbled towards the front door with an assortment of whines, grunts and swears. The front door, however, wasn't exactly a door. It was an opening to a huge house-sized beige tent, with a lofty overhang covering the gaping hole that was the entrance. From here the child could see their mother and father setting up the tarp dinner table, a strip of cloth held taut by those spindly metal beams used to pitch camping equipment. It was nestled in-between rows and rows of clothing displays, like a factory shop that had everything on sale. And that's just what it was. The entire tent was filled with clothes racks stocked to the brim with colourful hippy-era garments, each display with a bright red "90% Off" sign. There was even a second level, a small elevated piece of ground which held upon it a counter with a cash register. A huge empty space sat between that and the changing rooms, which were nothing short of ocean-themed shower curtains standing completely inconspicuously beside the only rack of normal clothes in the entire tent. In Jayden's distraction, carefully observing the same tent that they had lived in for their entire life, they slammed their exposed, barefooted little toe on a heavy head-sized crystal ball, one of two that adorned either side of the entryway.
"SON-OF-A BARD!" they said calmly and elegantly with a pronounced British vernacular, as one does when they violently stub their little toe.
"Come on in, offspring of mine," greeted Jordan's lovely daddy with a wide smile. "Your food's getting warm!"
The child's mother beamed along with their daddy, toothy smiles now inhabiting the dinner tarp. "Yes dear, salted ice cubes do have a tendency to run, if you catch my meaning."
The dinner tarp was the spitting image of the normal, stereotypical dinner tarp. Sitting on one of the fold-able camping chairs was their friendly-faced father, wearing a shallow brown top hat and a sharp, custom-tailored three-piece suit that was too big for him, shiny wing-tipped shoes and cane resting against the tent wall beside him. On the other was his plump, beaming mother with braided brown hair, multiple layers of tie-dyed T-shirts, a host of wooden and beaded chains adorning her wrists and neck, loose-fitting pants above bare feet, and peace sign and flower pins poking through every inch of cloth that they could find.
Jordan sat at the tarp and ate with their family wordlessly, the adults chatting vehemently about their own days simultaneously, laughing and exclaiming, without one listening to the other.
While everybody was asleep that night, Jordan heard a most terrifying scream. It pierced their dreams, forcing them to a sit-up, on high alert. Their mother's and daddy's sleeping bags were empty. The child cautiously stood up, scanning their dark surroundings. Just as things seemed to be normal and calm, Jordan heard another scream, this time from the small common garden outside. The youth recognised that voice. It was their only friend, Thumi, their Afro hair-styled companion. Jordan sprinted as fast as they could, bare feet slipping on the tarp floor, desperately trying to get a foothold. As the child bounded around the corner of the tent's opening, they saw a sight more horrifying than their mother in yoga pants. The young African boy was backed up against a wall, hands bleeding due to his desperate scrabbling at the rough face-brick wall. The object of poor Thumi's horror and desperation was something that haunted Jordan's nightmares: imposing, broad-shouldered and legless ghosts had cornered their dear friend. They were nothing like any ghosts that Jordan had ever seen. They were more solid than any ethereal being, and undoubtedly real. Above their broad shoulders were thumb-shaped heads holding two beady black eyes and a gum-less, sharp-toothed mouth that unhinged like a snake's. The shoulders tapered down to two long, flattened arms, at the end of which held five spindly fingernails a meter long, each nail caked with red. Over this entire monstrous appearance was the fact that the ghosts were patterned in triangles of all-consuming black and sickly green. Jordan was stunned. Their shaking body would not listen to them, and their stiff neck would not turn to look away. All that the kid could do was watch and wait. The six ghostly monsters hovered menacingly in front of Thumi, all licking the needled tips of their teeth with a black tentacle of a tongue, waiting. Out of the writhing gang pushed through a monster bigger than all the rest, growling as it made its way closer to its victim. It had seven fingernails on each hand, each one dripping with diseased, lumpy blood. As it stared Thumi directly in the eyes, its black orbs squirming with green smokey wisps, it brought its two hands together to form a circle, all fourteen claws in a ring pointed towards Thumi's heart. With a lightning-fast motion Thumi had been spun around and the ring of claws had penetrated his body through his back. Thumi's head fell backwards, his open eyes filled with horror and gaping mouth releasing his last breath. The monster strained, wiggling its claws inside Thumi's lifeless body, until the two hands came apart, with Jordan's friend being ripped in half with them.
Jordan's stomach writhed in panic and disgust, but just before it spilled its contents, two of the monsters made themselves known: one monster with a top hat, another donning a chain with a peace sign. The echoes of Jordan's retching brought the monsters' attention towards the tent. As the last salted ice cube dropped to the ground, Jordan fell back as the sight of the six monsters scrambling in mid-air towards him fell into his field of view. On all fours they frantically tried to scramble backwards, but the tarp floor was once again too slippery. The child slumped to the ground, ready to accept their painful death, in too much shock to do anything else. They closed their eyes and waited. But Death did not come. Jordan carefully cracked open their eyelids and peaked towards the entrance. There was no door to stop the monsters, but even so they scrambled and struggled against an invisible barrier. Suddenly Jordan had a flashback.
"Remember son," their mom had said lovingly, "should monsters ever come a-knocking, the power of organic food and cruelty-free meat that is held inside these crystal balls in the doorway will protect you."
The child could not remember their mother saying anything remotely similar to that, but they did not complain, nor wait for anything to go wrong. Their instincts were right, as even though the crystal balls were holding strong, jiggling inside their stands, the one on the right-hand side was starting to ominously crack. Above the screeching and scratching sounds of a monster armada, Jordan's resolve steeled. The child jumped to their feet and grabbed a hold onto the left-hand ball. The barrier released, and demons poured into the tent. Jordan was once again filled with fear, but they dared not turn their back to the abominations. As one of them came reeling towards them, the child held up the ball in front of them subconsciously, and sent the monster flying in the other direction. The kid's half-closed eyes widened. Jordan heard the screeching of another one behind them and promptly turned on their heals, bringing them face to face with a shocked top hat ghost spiraling towards the tent wall.
Jordan had thought that they had done it. The youth thought that they were going to survive.
Just as this thought entered Jordan's mind, after sending an Afro ghost soaring, all of the hope was drained out of them as quickly as it had come. The child looked behind them, and saw the large ghost smiling at them, its ring of claws pressed against Jordan's favorite T-shirt.
The world had gone dark. Its music had stopped, and all that was left was black from one end to the other. And then on the right-hand side of the world, indescribable alien letters appeared, scrolling up from the bottom of the world in rows, and the music of the world had started once again, light-hearted and comedic. Images appeared on the left-hand side, images of the hippie clothing tent.
Jordan's daddy walked into the tent, each step light and cheerful as he took off his top hat and slipped off his shoes, briefcase in hand. "Honey, I'm home!" he called. Jordan ran to their daddy, jumping into his arms with a smile.
"Welcome home, dear," sang Jordan's mother, also appearing out of nowhere, wearing an apron and wiping her hands.
"Look what I brought home with me!" said daddy, unlatching his suitcase. "It can fill up that empty space between the register and the changing rooms!" out of his suitcase he pulled a mechanical conveyor belt with a metal machine between the two ends.
"Oh darling it's wonderful," said mother as she clasped her hands together. "An automatic clothes folder!"
Daddy's face beamed, straightening his posture with one arm in from of him and the other firmly at his side. "Yes indeedy! Would you like to give it a go?"
"Would I ever!" exclaimed Jordan's mother excitedly. "You go first!" Jordan's daddy's expression dropped.
"What?"
Without warning, Jordan picked up its daddy and threw him onto the conveyor belt, tying down his arms and legs. The father squirmed and screamed. "What is this? Jordan, why are you doing this!?" Jordan and their mother said nothing and just stood by gleefully in anticipation. The last of the father's screams came when he entered the depths of the machine, followed by a mechanised whir and clunk as the machine strained. Blood poured out of the sides. The alien letters to the left of the world continued to scroll. After the machine gave its last push, a folded suit, accompanied by folded human skin, exited the machine, slowly moving along on the conveyor belt. As it reached the belt's end, the skin and blood-soaked clothes thumped unceremoniously into a wire trash can.
"It worked!" shouted Jordan as they jumped up and down with delight.
The choreographed laughs of a crowd of people filled the ambiance of the world.
The alien words stopped scrolling and the world once again became dark.
Somewhere in the distant cosmos, the cold stone walls of a cosmic castle filled with the roaring laughter of a Mad God.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
