Stumbling into Paradise?

Not my characters, just my shuffling of words for my own entertainment. 

* * * * *

"Alright then, let's take a look-see and figure out what we're dealing with, eh?" said the man in the trenchcoat. He spoke with a British accent and his tone was relaxed, as if *this* was no big deal. He placed a hand on the forehead of the little girl(his left hand, a lit cigarette dangled from his right). She was lying on the bed, well, technically, she was tied to the bed, a network of bungee cords crisscrossed her torso and legs. A little thing, couldn't have been more than seven or eight, dressed in pink Hello Kitty pajamas. The bungee cords would have seemed a gross sadism, except for the flickering red flames that were her eyes and the green drool at the corner of her mouth.

The man, Constantine was what he had called himself when he had showed up at the door earlier, looked into those flaming eyes. "I am addressing the entity within. Identify yourself."

The girl's head shifted slightly, as if her "eyes" were noticing Constantine for the first time. She coughed, and a glob of the green drool flew out of her mouth and landed on the cords across her chest. Her parents, who were cowered in the corner behind him, were still as statues. "I know you" came a deep gravely voice that could not possibly have come from the little girl.

"Then you know not to piss me off. So tell me, who are you?"

"My name doesn't matter, gutter mage."

"Oh, and why no--" and then he noticed movement under the cords. Through the gaps in the cords he could just make out the girl's tiny hands pulling the pin out of a grenade. Before he could respond, there was an indescribable amount of sound and a fleeting moment of a thousand points of pain followed by nothing.

* * * * *

When Constantine opened his eyes, he was laying down. Surprisingly, he felt fine. He looked at his hands, felt his face. Nothing. Not even the scar that Maria had given him. He sat up. That was when he realized that he was no longer in his own clothes. He was cad in a white, sleeveless tunic that stopped just below his knees. A quick check and he realized that he was wearing nothing but the tunic. He looked around. He had been lying on a plain wooden table, just long enough and wide enough to accommodate him. The room was smallish and white: white floors, white walls, white ceiling. No visible lights, but clearly he could see. No visible doors either. He got up and made a quick circuit of the room. No hidden doors either. But he could hear a bit of sound. He put his ear against one of the walls and listened. After a moment, a look of disgust crossed his face and he pulled back, shaking his head. Reflexively, he patted where he would normally have pockets, at least one of which would normally have a packet of Silk Cuts. He put his ear to the wall again, and pulled back more slowly. Sure enough, he could just make out a muzak version of "A Mighty Fortress is Our God." He sat back down on the table, "Where the hell am I?" he whispered.

"A singularly inappropriate question." The voice was kind-hearted, despite the admonition, as if a kindly uncle was trying to scold a nephew while simultaneously trying not to laugh at the youth's mischievousness.

"Is that so? Care to enlighten me then?"

"What do you remember, John?" The question seemed genuine, full of concern.

"I remember being called in by Father Tommy. A girl in his parish was possessed, and he knows better than to wait in line for his lot to bring in one of theirs. He rung me up and I went to have a look. I had just asked the entity to name itself, when..." He looked up, but of course, there was no one in the room to look at. "There was a grenade. The possession was bait." He snapped his fingers. "This is some kind of bloody hospital, innit?"

A tinkling sound, like a spring breeze tickling wind chimes, filled the air. "Oh, John! A hospital? Without doors and windows and machines that go beep and doctors and nurses and IVs? Come now, you're more clever than that."

"Well, I certainly don't feel dead. And I do have some experience there."

"Ah, that you do. But do you have experience with the Final Death? The death that leads to one's eternal destiny?"

"I assume that most of my trips to hell have been a sneak peek at my coming attractions. Are you trying to tell me that it wasn't?"

The tinkling again. "I am not telling you anything, John. I am merely asking you questions."

"Questions. I believe I started this conversation asking a question. Where am I?"

"And, again, I reply, what do you remember?"

"And I already answered that one, mate: possession, grenade, explosion, and waking up here. Which just brings us right back to, where the hell is here?"

"Oh, John, as I said, that is an inappropriate way to ask the question."

"Well, I'm not exactly the most appropriate man you'll ever meet."

"Oh, well do I know that, John Constantine. You are, in your own words, 'a nasty piece of work.' But despite that, you have done a lot of good in the world. You've fought against hell your entire life. Saved lives, and even souls, on countless occasions."

Constantine grinned. "If you're trying to tell me I'm in heaven, mate, I'm not buying it. I've done things..."

The voice was silent. Waiting.

"I've done things that I ain't exactly proud of. There's a string of bodies and a whole legion of ghosts that will testify to that. And I've done some things that I am unrepentantly proud of that would put make the angels blush. I might have fought hell, but I never served heaven."

"A couple of aphorisms may be appropriate here. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' and 'sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.'"

"Meaning what? That all along I was heaven's pawn in the war against hell? That all of the crap I went through, that I inflicted on others, was all... what? Part of some bloody divine plan? Bollocks! Identify yourself, or bugger off and let me nap." He laid back down and closed his eyes.

There was total silence for a beat, and then--

"I am the Metatron" boomed the voice all around him, startling Constantine to sit up and look around. "Although maybe you would prefer me like this." The latter voice was British and came from one spot in front of him. Alan Rickman stood before him, looking just like he had come off the set of Dogma back in '99.

Constantine grinned and clapped slowly.

"You like?" The Metatron gave a slight bow. "This is actually one of my favorite bits of iconography. God likes it, as well. Used to make me assume this form all the time, until Rickman joined the celestial chorus. I rather miss being him."

On the Passing of an Artist

a sketch on paper
seems so fragile,
so ephemeral,
and yet,
the art can go on
into forever,
but the artist...
now there's a gossamer thread for you;
the strong hand and
brilliant eye
grow weak and dim,
life's brief flame
dances madly in the winds of time,
until,
inevitably,
the wind blows *just* so,
and the flame is just...
gone

the who will always pass,
while the what may yet remain;
we mourn the artist's passing,
while treasuring the art,
and holding fast to the hope
that there is a place
beyond the winds of time
where all the flames that once were
will yet dance again

For Darwyn Cooke, 1962-2016

The Moment of Judgment

"you have sinned!"
the emerald-clad Wrath of God looms above me,
his pale finger,
a lightning bolt of judgment frozen in this moment,
hovers a heartbeat away from from my own heart's last beat;
his cold eyes,
pure white fire blazing from a bone-colored face,
hold no pity,
no mercy,
no compassion,
and in those eyes i see
that no reasonable argument,
no heartfelt remorse,
no desperate pleading
would stay this divine executioner's hand,
and so, with closed eyes and bowed head,
i await my final earthly punishment,
my last experience in this life
before my new birth
as eternally living food
for the poison-fanged, burning worms of perdition's dung pits.
my heart beats,
the bolt strikes my head,
and I begin to scream
forever

Awakening on Ysmault

red, red blood...
in my eyes,
and in my hair,
and in my ears,
and in my nose,
and in my mouth,
and in my lungs,
and in my stomach;
deep in a sea of blood,
i writhe
and thrash,
convulsing,
contorting,
while both around me
and within me
an overwhelming pounding,
a migraine of my entire body,
a booming thump, thump-thump,
thump, thump-thump,
my soul contracts to a single point,
a red hot spark
that ignites my blood,
burns my blood,
frees my blood
gives new life--
my true life--
to my blood;
i break the surface of this scarlet sea,
i breathe in the stale, heavy air of this strange world
and scream as i exhale the fiery blood;
i roar to the heavens,
i growl at the stars,
at everything that is,
i rage

Top Ten Favorite Comic Book Couples

Yeah, this should have pictures. Maybe I'll add some later. And, no, you're not suppose to care about my opinions on these things. And, finally, yes, I am clearly a DC fanboy.

1. Barry and Iris: "marital bliss"
2. Swampy and Abby: "unconventional relationship"
3. John and Zatanna: "still friends (of a sort) even after the break up"
4. Querl and Kara: "star-crossed (and time-crossed) love"
5. Bruce and Selina: "opposites attract"
6. Wally and Linda: "marital bliss (mostly), now with kids"
7. Hal and Carol: "on again, off again"
8. Dick and Kory: "young love"
9. Joker and Harley: "unrequited love is crazy" 
10. Clark and Lois: "the classic (comic book) love story"

Why Aquaman Rocks

1. He lives in the ocean (not just BY the ocean, but IN it. Screw "beachfront" how about "all in"?)
2. He is King of Atlantis (that's right, he's the sovereign ruler of a long lost mythical kingdom. What are you sovereign ruler of?)
3. He's stronger than you (unless you're one of a very select group of people, e.g., Superman, Aquaman can take you out in a fight. Probably without much effort).
4. He's tougher than you (able to withstand ocean depths that crush some submarines. Odds are you could break your leg tripping over your own feet).
5. That mental telepathy with fish thing (no, he doesn't talk with fish. Fish are stupid. They can't hold up a conversation. But he can influence them... with his brain. My brain just barely influences my own self, let alone anything not physically connected to it)
6. No secret identity (yeah, he's "really" Arthur Curry, but Arthur doesn't have some mundane day job and a cheap little apartment somewhere. He's always Aquaman, and the closest thing he has to a day job is King of Atlantis, see #2 above).
7. His costume (admit it, you couldn't pull off orange and green. Aquaman does, somehow. Dang, he's cool...)
8. He carries a trident (sure, a giant fork seems funny, until 300 pounds of solid Atlantean muscle has it pointed at your heart. Then, less funny... unless you're Joker-level crazy).
9. He loves his wife (whether it's the version where she's crazy, or an assassin sent to kill him, he loves her. Heck, in the Flashpoint timeline he was willing to destroy the surface world because Wonder Woman killed Mera.)
10. The Justice League accepts him (you can laugh all you want, but Batman and Superman picked him to be on their team, not you. If he's good enough for the likes of the World Finest to pal around with, who are you to judge him?)

A Cold Refusal

A DC Comics fan fiction. All characters owned by DC Comics. This tale is totally done without permission, etc. 

"Not interested," said the man in the blue and white parka. He picked up the half empty mug of beer on the counter in front of him and took another sip. In the relative silence of the mostly empty bar, the mug made a distinct thud when he placed it back down.

"Not interested? Come now, Captain. Surely you don't expect me to believe that you are not interested in making an easy million." The man in the green three piece suit smiled at his seated companion.

"Not interested in the job, Nigma."

"The job? The job is easy. Easiest heist ever." A pause. "Perhaps there are other factors underlying your absurd refusal."

Leonard Snart, aka Captain Cold, took a quick, deep breath and silently counted to three before saying, "What the hell are you talking about? And if you're suggesting what I think you are..."

Edward Nigma raised his hands in a show of protest. "I'm not suggesting anything. I perfectly understand that you prefer to operate in Central City. It's a Nice Place. The police are Nice, your colleagues are Nice. Even your superheroes are Nice. Relative to some of the other members of the Capes and Cowls Club. It must be wonderful, not having to deal with a violent psychotic who is truly scarier than any of us so-called 'villains.' Tell Flash I said 'hi' next time you chat."

Snart turned towards Nigma. "You think I don't see what you're trying to do here, Riddler? You think if you suggest I'm afraid of Batman that I will sign on, just to prove something?" Snart shook his head. "Ain't happening."

"I never suggested that you were afraid of Batman. I just said that you have it 'nice' here in Central City. Of course, you'd have to be mad to not be afraid of Batman. He's decidedly... Not Nice."

"Look, Nigma, Bats is scary, but in the end it's about taking a beating, physically and, you know, psychologically. The psychological beating comes from losing, and we always seem to lose. Even if we do pull off a crime successfully, we keep pulling more until the hero beats us. If I was afraid of constant failure, I woulda given this life up a long time ago. And as far as physical pain goes, you ever been hit by a super-speed punch? You're a smart guy. Force equals mass times acceleration, and no one does acceleration like a speedster."

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"And do what? Sell refrigerators at Sears? I started out as a thief. But when I met the Flash, I became something more. At first, he was just a nuisance, but eventually he became a symbol of everything that I would need to beat to live in the world that I wanted to live in. Same holds for the rest of the Rogues. I'm guessing that's not much different than you Arkham loonies and Batman."

He glanced at Edward, who offered only a quick nod as a response, so Snart continued. "If I'm going to commit a crime without the Flash's interference, it's going to be because one of us Rogues beat him. Not because I slipped off to Gotham to be a henchman for one of the Bat villains."

"So, 'no' is your final answer?"

Snart nodded. "Besides, ya got Fries in Gotham. Why not tap the local ice bad guy?"

After a moment's silence, Cold grinned. "Lemme guess. You did, and he turned you down?"

"Victor is not really a team player. He has his own agenda."

"Killer Frost? Icicle?"

Nigma sighed. "Yes and yes. I even looked up the current Chillblaine while I was here in Central City."

Snart shook his head. "It seems no one wants to play with you. Might be something to talk to your shrink about when Bats throws you back into Arkham." He turned back to his drink.

Edward Nigma started to step away.

"Hey, Nigma, I'm gonna assume that you came to me last because you knew I'd say no, and not because I was your last choice."

Edward suppressed a smile while turning back. "Of course, dear Captai--" Snart was still drinking his beer, but he had his cold gun aimed at Edward's head.

Snart finished his drink, pulled some money out of his parks's pocket and tossed it on the counter. Getting off the stool, he holstered his gun. "Good, 'cause I'd hate to have had to prove myself to you." Then he walked past Edward and crossed the floor to the front door where he exited without a single glance back.

"Well," said Edward to himself, "that could have gone better. Still, there's always plan B."

Everything You Know Will Change in a Flash...

Today, Flashpoint begins (cue goose bumps).

DC's big summer event begins today, with the release of Flashpoint #1. The basic premise, apparently, is that Reverse Flash goes back in time and prevents many of the DC Universe superheroes from becoming their heroic selves. Barry Allen has to remain the Flash, or else there won't be a Reverse Flash (no Barry, no speed force; no speed force, no speedsters, including Reverse Flash). However, in this new, messed up DCU, Abin Sur didn't crash, thus Hal Jordan never became Green Lantern. Baby Kal-El ended up in an Area 51 kind of lab, rather than in Smallville (at least, I think that's what happened to him, we'll see).

In addition to the main miniseries, there is a number of 3-issue spin-off miniseries as well as a handful of one-shots. This will run through the summer and into early fall. There's no way I can afford every book that is a part of this, so I've picked a few that look interesting to me.

Anyway, issue #1, tonight, after work. This is a hugely ambitious project that will either Rock or Blow on an epic level. My money is on Rock. Spoiler-laden review will follow soon...

Note: no such reviews forthcoming. It's been too cool to spoil.