Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

“Right, all you junior residents get busy with the usual:  dust, sweep and mop, and don’t forget to soak some beans for dinner.”  The abbot walks down our row, nodding in approval as he takes in the sight of each immaculately robed and shaven monk.

When he gets to me he stops and sighs.

“Siddhartha’s begging bowl, Kent—couldn’t you at least make an effort?  You’re sporting week-old fuzz on your head and it looks like your robes haven’t been washed in over a month.  You—“

“Sorry Abbot.”  I let out a five-second long belch and wince as a particularly bright shaft of sunlight needles my brain.  “Oh man.”  I clutch my belly and try not to puke.  I’m suffering from a gnarly-ass hangover.

The abbot sighs again.  “I can’t trust you to cook or clean without making a total mess of it—go to your room and contemplate the nature of the void.”  He gives me a disgusted glance.  “Or just sleep it off.”

I grunt out a thanks and stumble to my feet.  As I get up to leave my robe catches underneath my right foot and in a twist of misfortune, every bit of my improperly tied monk-attire slips off my body and I fall to the floor, flopping around and screaming as if I was Chris Farley in the middle of a full-on freak-out:

“FUCKING FUCK MAY THE NINE-COCKED DEMONS OF MARA’S PRIMARY HELL-REALM ROAST THE BALLS OFF WHATEVER TRICKSTER DEMON INFESTED MY STUPID FUCKING ROBE—”

“KENT!” the abbot yells.  “Go to your room and contemplate your shortcomings!”  He runs his eyes over me.  I’m wearing a fundoshi (the underwear you see on sumo wrestlers) that’s got a smiley face drawn right above my junk.  There’s also a giant stain on it.

The abbot sees it and his eyes widen.  “And for Nirvana’s sake, Kent, change your damn underwear!  If you’re going out on the town for a night of drinking, can’t you at least learn some bladder control???”

I rub my neck and glance awkwardly off to the side.  “Uh, the stain’s not from me abbot.  I got a bunch of lap dances yesterday.”

His eyes narrow in confusion.  “Lap dances?”

“You see, when females becomes aroused—”

“OUT!”  His face reddens in outrage and he stabs the air with a pointed finger.

After muttering, “Okay okay geez,” I gather up my robes and hustle to my room.

The abbot shouts, “AND NO MORE NIGHTS ON THE TOWN UNTIL YOU’VE WRITTEN A HAIKU!”

I slide the wood-screen door shut and collapse on my mattress.  Fuck—a haiku?  Man I just signed up at the monastery for free rice; I don’t know anything about writing.  God-fucking-dammit.  Speaking of rice, though…I see there’s a few clumps left in my snack bowl and I scarf them junks down.  Mmm…rice…I rub my belly and burp contentedly.  A short while later, I drift off.

My dreams are troubled.  I float outside my body, witnessing the subjective flow of events and the acausal seed from which they spring.  The birth of the Universe, which comes from a point of infinite density where the construct of space-time ceases to exist…the mesmeric shift of simple to complex, as infinite quanta of matter bound by links of dancing energy draw them together and form constructs which become imbued with consciousness…each simulacra iterating itself on a mud ball that spins through the eternal blackness of space…one such configuration is known as Kent, and he is not just a monk; he is a barbarian-warrior, he is a male stripper and sometimes a gigolo, he is a great silverback ape that beats mountains of ass, he is a supernatural detective that lays the pipe on all manner of hot-bodied female entities, he is an author in the twenty-first century who writes a story called “Echo,” he is a—

Wait—an author.

That writes a story called Echo.

Magic flash.

The energy of billions of stories surge through me.  My eyes crackle with lightning and my pupils disappear as the full power of Creativity blasts through my veins.  I snatch up a brush and with a sure and steady hand, dip it into an ink well and begin writing my haiku:

 

“In porn star’s presence,

Protect your face, neck and chest,

From death-blasts of jizz.”

 

A few hours later, the abbot walks into my room.  I present my haiku proudly before him.  He wrinkles his brow in confusion.

“What’s a ‘porn star?’ ”

He sees my face light up with glee, and before I can explain myself, he closes his eyes and hols up a hand.  “I don’t want to know.  Look, you’re free to roam around town—just try not to embarrass the monastery, okay?”

Before I can answer, he turns on his heel and walks away.

WHOO!  Kent Wayne’s gonna get his freak on!  A giant, shit-eating smile grows on my face—this calls for a new smiley face on my underwear.

Maybe one with a dinosaur head.

 

 

There were in fact, monks like this.  Just found out about a down-ass fella named Ikkyu who said:  “Don’t hesitate, get laid—that’s wisdom; sitting around chanting—what crap.”  Anyways, if you find yourself in the repressive confines of a Zen monastery and you feel the need to go Buck Nuts on the local drinking circuit, there’s a solution to that!  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  #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book

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