Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

NINE MONTHS AGO:

I have super-sperm.  I’m not bragging; it would be a blessing if I didn’t have to host billions of nutcases, all psychopathically focused on making another me.  It’s for this reason that I can’t jizz into socks; my crazy-ass sperm live for years outside my body and threaten to impregnate everything around them.  Not just eggs; these little dudes crawl into ovens and make toasters, they could slither into iPods and gestate into iPhones, they could even make their way into the engine of an SUV and turn into full-grown SmartCars.

So whenever I pleasure myself, I’m extra careful.  My emanations go into a tissue, into a toilet, then they they get flushed.  I’m sure I’ve filled our sewer systems with all kinds of mutant craziness, but hey—out of sight, out of mind, right?

After an exhausting night of entertaining soccer moms, I make it home and stagger into the bathroom.  I plop onto the toilet to do my bi’dness.  Unbeknownst to me, I didn’t flush my super-sperm down the toilet from last time; in the midst of my bi’dness, I hear a splash, feel moisture on my backside, along with a tinny-voiced:  “Now is the winter of our discontent!”

Oh FUCK!

 

NOW:

For nearly a year, I’ve tried to ignore it.  Anytime someone brought up the subject of pro-life vs. pro-choice, I’d voice a nervous laugh and change the subject.

But now, the bill has come due.

“HHHNNNNGHHHH!!!”  My breath comes hard and fast as I spread my legs and flex my butt.  I was watching Rick n’ Morty when my water broke; I barely had time to position myself on my mountain dew-spotted couch and prepare for an impromptu birth.

“NYAAAAGHHGODITHURTS!!!”  I clutch the tiny fingers of my favorite action hero—Scuba Steve—as my body ejects a slime-covered globule out from my rectum.

There’s no way YOU would trust a Kent-clone, is there?  That’s why I rack the action on my pump shotgun, and sight in on the blob of Gross that’s shot out from my nethers.

“Stay right where you are.”  I try to keep my voice from quivering, but only partially succeed.  Kent-Clone begins morphing and growing.  Soon, I’m looking at a slimy, naked version of myself.  It’s fully grown, and clutching some kind of battle-mace.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own family would you?”  A sinister chuckle slips from his lips.

“Depends.”  My lips tighten.  “Do you like mountain dew?”

“Of course.”

“Pizza?”

“Goes without saying.”

“Grammar?”

Our eyes lock.  For a long, tense moment, he stays silent.  Then he rushes me, battle-mace lifted high.  “ALLHAILGRAMMARRUAAAAHHHH!!!”

“EEEE!!!  EEEE!!!”  I scream like a five-year old schoolgirl as I work the gun.  Each blast sends him staggering backward, but he keeps coming like a super-powered Deadite.  I’m far too cowardly and not yet cool enough to throw out a perfect one-liner like Bruce Campbell would’ve, so I reach for my eReader and open it to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Chuck Norris crashes through the window, front-rolling three times (how the HELL does he do that in uber-tight jeans?) and cartwheeling to his feet.  He snatches the shotgun from my hands, hissing, “Gimme that, pussy!” then yanks out a handful of his beard and jams it into the gun’s feeding tube.  He starts working the action, blasting Kent-Clone with a storm of shells.

For no other reason than it’s Chuck freakin’ Norris, the rounds morph into bald eagles—each one’s colored like a camouflaged American flag—as they shoot from the muzzle.  Everything goes slow-mo, and I hear Lee Greenwood belting out, “I’m Proud to be an American,” from out of nowhere.  The eagles rip into Kent-Clone; he howls in agony as a flock of camouflaged birds tear him apart.  Soon, he’s reduced to a bloody pile of gore.

Chuck hands the shotgun back to me, barrel still smoking.  “That’s how you kill grammar-loving clones of yourself!”  Then he yells, “’MERCA!” roundhouse-kicks himself in the face, and vanishes into thin air.

Jesus—I gotta start growing a beard!  Regular buckshot just doesn’t cut it!

 

Have you inadvertently given birth to an evil, grammar-worshipping version of yourself because you’ve inattentively handled your stupidly powerful gametes?  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  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition  #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book

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