I’m wheeling through the blackness of space, humming to myself in Transcendental Enochian, picking and eating a few stars here, a few asteroids there…I pass by Andromeda and sidle up to her. “Wassap ‘Droms? You wanna merge black holes? Mine is WAY bigger than the other—” she cuts me off with: “Ew—no. Leave me alone Kent. Your galactic spheroids gross me out. I’m gonna go see what Milky Way’s up to.” Andromeda whisks away and I yell out, “Milky Way isn’t even his real name—it’s a porn name! Anyone can see that! He’s gonna leave a mess all over your face, neck, and chest! Geez, how obtuse ARE you??” She raises one of her spiral arms at me and gives me an obscene gesture. Gamora’s boobies, what do I do now? The supermassive black hole at the center of my body is throbbing and it needs to MERGE dammit! The only surefire bet is those weird chicks at the edge of the Universe but I don’t wanna slog over to the Far Reaches; I’ve heard they’re all kinds of strange and inbred out there. Mofos are always doing weird shit like snorting quasar blasts and getting up to all kinds of crazy. Oh well, maybe I should just stroke my hole with a few gas clouds and take a nap, but damn, wish there was a—suddenly, three lenticular galaxies come floating up to me. They’re all leering uncomfortably hard at my central black hole. I eye them cautiously. “Ah, what can I do for you, fellas?” One of them winks and says, “You can face the other way while we ravage that sweet, impossible to escape, gravitational well of yours.” STRING THEORY WITH CHEESE! (Last eon, I received an centillion-frequency pass that’s good for 678 millenia to the Akashic Channels as a gift from a cousin; so I’ve seen Shawshank Redemption like three hundred times, and I know what perfidy these fuckers are going to try on me). I bend my spiral arms in over my black hole. “You guys can choke on your armless, anemic-ass interstellar dicks. Maybe if you’d paid more attention to your partners during your mergers you wouldn’t look so damn ugly. Get lost, freaks.” The lenticulars become still with rage, then the lead one yells: “GET HIM!” They start whirling toward me, and I mentally kick myself: As a baby galaxy, I was instructed to NEVER go looking for mergers without a wingman! Not just to clap spiral arms with after we mate with some sweet galaxy ass, but also for safety! I start whirling away, but I see that there’s no help in sight; the nearest galaxies look to be at least 9.0093826*10^7906 trillion light years away, and they probably aren’t officers from Interstellar Enforcement either (normally I curse those squares, always cracking down on galaxies that’re huffing gas clouds for pain relief and black hole regulation; goddamit, how long will it take before they realize that anti-gas cloud sentiment was a propaganda tool designed by the rich to ensure they could peddle a host of inferior products?) I spin up my consciousness and connect to the Akashic Channels, then, without understanding why I’m doing it, I look through my incarnational profiles and see that I will one day live a life as an Earthling (eewww right inside the Milky Way) known as Kent Wayne, and I will write a book called “Echo.” I link to that data-set, and there’s a magic flash. My supermassive black hole begins spinning up, and the virtual particles around it start kicking into high gear, winking in and out of existence at rates that defy the norm by billions of orders of magnitude. Nasty-ass Hawking radiation jets out from my nethers, enveloping the lenticulars in a radiation bath of Disgusting Grossness. I flex my intergalactic sphincter, making sure that these three fools each get a huge dose, all the while yelling, “You wanted my black hole? Well here it is! Get some, jerks! GET SOME!” They fly away, coughing and retching. It’s too much for one of them; he screams and unravels, spreading all of his matter across the infinite vacuum of space. That’s what you get for messing with Kent Wayne, eleven-time award winner for most beautiful and well-endowed Spiral Galaxy, bitches!
I know it’s a far off consideration, but when you one day reincarnate as a galaxy, make sure that no uninvited weirdos come poking around your supermassive black hole. Right now I’m in the middle of reworking Echo 1, trying to get all my noob mistakes out. If you refrain from buying it due to my amateurish writing style, a product of my first ventures into fiction, then I totally understand, and I’ll announce when I re-upload an updated version. If you buy it anyways, then many thanks! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle