I wake up from my nap and gently lift puppies off my legs, chest, and face.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been sleeping at a friend’s house (I forget his real name; I call him Borg because I like robot-sounding words). My current girlfriend and I have been on the rocks, and after enduring enough of my Man Child ways, she banished me from my own studio. That’s okay—I’m not a possessive guy, and as long as I have access to mountain dew and pizza, ’sall good. Besides, if you get a good enough dog bed, it’s actually more comfy than a real bed (yes—I know this from personal experience). Add in a passel of fuzzy dogs, and you can assemble yourself a miniature version of heaven (as long as you don’t mind the unholy gasses that come wisping out from their gross ends).
I mess with Borg’s dogs for a bit—his Lab just gave birth; unbeknownst to him, she was pregnant when they got her from the pound—and they sleepily chew and paw at my hands. I skitter my fingers across their noses and they can’t help but start wrassling with me.
Suddenly, I hear the door slam shut. I run into the living room and see Borg bracing his back against it, his eyes darting from side to side in frightened tics.
“Borg—what the hell? What’s going on?”
His eyes lock onto mine and he blurts, “EXES! My ex has teamed with your ex and they’re fucking coming for us!” Then he cocks his head in a quizzical slant—as if he’s just realized something important—and his gaze narrows. “Don’t call me ‘Borg,’ Kent. My name is—HHHHHRRRRRGHHH!!!”
His mouth brims with blood. A second later it starts flowing down from the corners of his lips. He looks at his stomach and stares disbelievingly at the two katana blades that have just sprouted from his abdomen at forty-five degree angles. A crimson bloom spreads from the wounds…then the blades scissor inward, chopping him in half. His torso stays intact for a hanging second…then his upper half slides right while his hips and legs slide left.
The mutilated half of Borg—the one that can still speak—thunks to the ground and turns slowly toward me. He utters two words:
And then he dies.
The door busts open in a storm of splinters. Borg’s ex comes tromping in right behind my ex, and fuck me sideways, my ex happens to be holding two bloody katanas. She levels one of them directly at my face.
“I SAT ON YOUR COUCH, KENT!” she screams. “THE ONE YOU BOOBY-TRAPPED WITH INFERNO FARTS!”
I can’t help but giggle. Her eyes narrow into thin, demonic slits.
“Think that’s funny, eh? Think it’s funny when you trust that it’s safe to sit down, and then you find yourself enveloped by a green-brown mist that smells like year-old zombies? NOW IS THE WINTER OF MY DISCONTENT!”
She charges at me, whirling her blades with expert precision. My humor turns to terror, and I do the only thing I can think of:
I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.
My mouth drops in amazement as glowing strings of logic envelop my hands. Solid premises form across my wrists, then quickly blossom into airtight proofs, chaining point after point with contrapositions, Law of the Excluded Middle, De Morgan’s theorem, conjunctions, Double Negations…in a matter of seconds my hands are wrapped in the finest formulas you could ever imagine. When the first blade comes whistling at my head, I clap it between my enchanted fingers and proceed to break it with a quick twist. I parry the second blade in an X-block, catching it between my spell-laden wrists. The logic continues iterating over me, coating my body in a spell-forged suit of psychic armor. Her katana strikes have no power against the radiant symbols that have now coalesced into something that looks like a robotic suit made of iridescent characters.
I raise both arms like Iron Man just before he fires his wrist rockets.
“Tautological restraints: deploy.”
Two streams of incandescent letters blast from my limbs, causing my shoulders to jerk back from the recoil. The letters wrap themselves up and down my two attackers, binding them tight in magical straitjackets.
My Ex writhes and hisses. “LET ME GO KENT—IT BURNS! LOGIC BURNNNNSSSS!!!!”
I cluck my tongue and wag my finger. “Not until you calm down. In the meantime, would you like a mountain dew?”
She gives me a furious stare and spits, “FUCK your mountain dew!”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “For shame! Swearing at and assaulting people in a roomful of puppies! Tsk tsk!”
I repair and revive Borg (if you didn’t already know, logic-based magic can heal any damage caused by a raving lunatic. Logic and magic aren’t antithetical; they actually become more powerful than their individual components when woven together) and he gives me a puzzled look. “What happened?”
“Vengeful Exes. You take care of em; I already did my part.”
He looks around his apartment. I see him working to process what has just happened. It takes him a bit, but then he finally looks at me and gives me a nod. He clicks on his phone and calls the police.
Satisfied that all is copacetic, I ditch my armor and start wrasslin’ with the dogs.
Kent Wayne NEVER passes up the opportunity to wrassle with puppies!
Have your logic-hating Exes made an attempt on your life and distracted you from the all-important task of puppy wrasslin’? Never fear! 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