Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

The hunchbacked, bugeyed receptionist gives me a yellow-toothed grin.

“Will you be paying in flesh or currency, young master?”

I look nervously from side to side, taking in the large cobwebs looming in the corners, the dusty oak, the tarnished filigree, and adjust the tote bag hanging from my shoulder.  “I’m sorry—what did you just say?”

“Cash or credit?”

“Credit.”  I hand him my card and he takes hold of it between his rickety, black-nailed fingers.  After he swipes it, his old-school, black-and-green monitor flashes with the message:  TRANSACTION APPROVED.

He hands it back to me along with a notched key.  “Room 1313.  Mind your step—it’s a bit behind on…renovations, shall we say.  Heh heh heh!”

I glance at his name tag.  “Thanks Sam.”

“It’s Samael.”

“Mm hm.  I’ll see you around, yeah?”

As I walk away, Samael clutches the air and throws his wispy-haired head back, erupting with maniacal laughter.

What a weird motherfucker.

I make my way up to 1313, avoiding the fist-sized spiders that skitter furtively across the ground (one of them is big enough to squeal after it bumps up against the wall).  I put my key in the door, turn it, and step into my room.

As the door swings wide, I spot someone sitting in a chair, staring out the window.  Due to the faint reflection from the rain-spattered glass, I can see he’s tented his fingers over his chest.  Lightning flashes outside, carving a brilliant jag into the unforgiving night.


The guy gets up, smoothing the front of his tuxedo with a pale, withered hand.  He turns and faces me, his lips split open in a sallow smile.  Oh FUCK.


He spreads his arms.  “What do you think of my new digs, Kent Wayne?”

“I think it’s an unholy breeding ground for Twilight-loving fucksticks that have exceeded their sigh-quota by a billion percent.  Do you have fun sighing in here, you sighing piece of shit?”

He chuckles softly and begins pacing.  “Funny.  You sir, are a funny guy.  I’m going to enjoy unraveling your mind.”

“I will pull your spleen out your starfish, you gungy-cocked piece of—”

He shakes his head, tsk-tsking.  “Not going to happen.  Want to know why?  I’ve brought a friend this time—you may know him as Grammar Nazi Prime.”

The shadows gather on the floor, and congeal into a hairless, bespectacled nerd.  My nuts shrink into a thimble-sized wrinkle that would look right at home at the end of a witch’s wart-ridden nose.

Emo-poet grins maliciously.  “You work for us now.  And should the mood strike me, your asshole will satisfy my anal proclivities.”

“Like FUCK IT WILL!”  I reach into my pocket and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Grammar Nazi Prime reaches up to his forehead and unzips his skin.  Chuck Norris wriggles out of it, his bowflexed muscles bulging in his armless, 1980s-powered denim outfit.  He hop-skips forward and bends the laws of physics by throwing a perfect roundhouse kick in the tightest jeans imaginable, hitting Emo-poet square in the kisser.

“ ’MERCA!”

Emo-poet stumbles back, crying and moaning through his dislocated jaw.  He tries to say something, but Chuck rushes forward and—


—snaps the dude’s neck.  As Emo-poet’s lifeless body collapses to the floor, Chuck dusts off his hands, nodding to himself like a satisfied handyman.

“Attemptin’ to corrupt Kent with yer god-hatin’ Commie speech, eh?  That’ll be seven Hail Mary’s and a go fuck yerself while I cornhole yer mother!”  He puts his hands on his hips and looks me up and down.  “How’s it goin’ pussy?  Wanna lift some weights, then jerk off to ourselves while we look in the mirror?”

“Uh, that’s not really my cup of—”

He flaps a dismissive hand at me.  “Ah, get out of here with your weak sauce bitch-speak!”  Then he charges toward the window and launches into a somersault, crashing through the glass beard-first.  He disappears from view, but I can hear his trailing victory-scream for nearly a minute.

Craziness!  But whatevs—just another day in the life of Man Child and author Kent Wayne!  😀

Are you trapped in a creepily cliche house of horrors where you’re about to be assaulted with some bunk-ass poetery?  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 I’ve started a podcast:  Logical Idiots!  If you want to check it out on YouTube, see it here:  Logical Idiots on YouTube and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting!  Here’s the iTunes page:  Logical Idiots on iTunes.  Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at!  Go check out his computer-based wizardry  🙂 🙂 😀

Hold on!  I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate!  If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish.  Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens!  In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to!  Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy!  Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts!  😲💪 😜


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