VOLT: YA Fantasy

by Dawn Brazil

  “Shit. Damn.” Joe runs his hands through his hair.

  I stare at him, confused. He must have thought Ryan might be here. It’s vacant, though. This probably won’t work out the way I want. The universe has a way of crapping all over my expectations. Even the valid ones. Finding Ryan in VOLT is an extremely invalid anticipation on my part. I accept my regrets. I ought to tell him we should head back to his mom.

  He paces in front of the building. His steps are angry, and he frowns over at me several times. “Listen, Joe, you don—”

  He lifts his hand. “Stop talking. Please. I gotta think.”

  He turns and bangs his head on the brick wall of the coffee shop several times. His method of thinking is the strangest I’ve ever seen. The impact is so loud, a few people turn and stare at us. I’m concerned he might give himself a concussion. But not concerned enough to stop him.

  Chapter 10

  I keep my mouth shut. Mainly because he said please, and because he might be insane. Seeing as I might be insane too, this isn’t good. Two crazy people shouldn’t travel alone together.

  He turns from the wall. My eyes zone into his forehead to determine what his scar looks like. A red dented mark covers most of the area below his hairline. I wince and suppress my smile. “We need to get to a hotel before sundown. Which I’d estimate is about another fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  “Why? What’s up with nightfall?” I place my hands on my hips, exasperated with this whole trip. “We should leave. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  Joe walks a few paces ahead but stops and stares at me with an unreadable expression. “Can’t explain now. When we get to where we’re going, I’ll let you know what we’ll do next. Then, and only then, can you speak to me. And we’re not arguing about this.” He walks behind me. I turn to see what he’s doing as his hands rise like he’s going to touch me. I stumble away from him. I feel the bulge of my eyes, and his reaction for a half-second is shock, then pity. He whisper-shouts in my ear, “Move your skinny ass, Princess.”

  I take a deep breath and walk. Sam, keep cool. But remaining calm is the last thing I want to do. My imagination is alight with a dozen tactics I can use to teach him how to properly address me.

  Remember why you’re here, Sam. Ryan is worth all this. So what if this guy acts an Alaska. Let him. Just don’t mess this up.

  We walk until the heels of my feet throb. Again, like before, Joe doesn’t speak. I don’t mind. Somewhere during our long trek, he began to march beside me. I suspect this is to make sure I don’t talk to anyone else.

  It’s still puzzling why I couldn’t speak to those people. They looked nice enough, harmless even—a man and a woman taking an afternoon stroll. I’m in VOLT, though—wherever VOLT is—and it’s definitely different from any place I’ve ever been. So who knows the threat they could have posed.

  I’m not sure about this being a dream still, especially after the headlock incident. Shouldn’t I have woken by now if I were dreaming? Whatever this experience is, I hope I can share it with someone other than Joe. But honestly, he can be as belligerent as he wants. Time and space can swallow us and everything else can crumble and melt away, if I can see Ryan again. I need this. I need something to go right so badly I ache from the need of it.

  Even if it’s a lie—I need it. Sometimes a lie is the hope we need to keep going.

  “We’re here,” Joe mumbles in my direction. He might as well be talking to the couple across the street. I bite the inside of my jaw so I won’t open my big mouth and allow my decrepit soul to speak for me. My mouth has gotten me into trouble a few times.

  I won’t sabotage my opportunity here.

  I glance at the place we’ve stopped. It’s a hotel. The building is red brick, and vintage. I crane my neck, but the structure is too tall to determine the actual height. A hatch attendant and a horse-drawn carriage are posted in the front entrance like maybe a queen will be escorted out at any minute. No one comes out of the hatch, but the attendant stands there on the balls of his feet, like he’s prepared for who or whatever comes at him.

  The attendant is a towering man with a colorful yellow, red, and green uniform. He pulls the hatch open for us. “Evening ma’am, sir,” he says. He tips his wide-rim cover with one hand and holds the door open with the other.

  Joe nods at him. “Hello,” I say.

  As we step through the entry, both Joe and I stop and inhale. The air is saturated with the scent of vanilla. My eyes require a few minutes to adjust to what’s going on inside before I can move forward.

  A dumpy man and woman stroll by, smiling, and nod hello. They must be two-and-a-half to three feet tall, max.

  I nod hello and try not to stare after them. It’s a difficult task.

  As they pass me again, I continually steal glances at them. They whiz through the crowd in the lobby to make their way to the reception desk. The male reaches beneath the woman’s thin red jacket and pulls a cord hidden beneath it. She comes to life and while I can’t make out what she says, I can tell the conversation is heated. Her small hands move in the air the entire time she talks.

  I force my grin away and look for something to distract me from the life-sized angry dolls. Everyone in VOLT dresses like either they are in the circus, going to sleep, or going to a formal. I glance at my hospital gown. Smut covers the front, and a jagged cut shows at the bottom above my knee.

  I’m severely underdressed, either way.

  In the farthest corner of the hotel, a group of about seven or eight pigs sit at a long wooden bar, drinking and burping loudly. They’re laughing and slapping each other on their portly backs as they converse. I tear my eyes away as a plump pink pig spots me gawking and winks. Pigs wearing clothes is wrong—and a little adorable, but very, very wrong.

  In the center of the lobby, a section marked by a hanging red sign announces: Unclaimed Things. A miniature train set pushes itself around the entire unclaimed area. Numerous inanimate objects, some socks (though I know from my experience in line they can speak at any moment), a laptop, cell phones, and books are positioned at random places. Other items that should be inanimate—but aren’t—litter the bright orange carpet. A large wooden spoon talks non-stop to a pot. The pot wears a scowl of annoyance at the spoon. A red pencil with a giant eraser head talks to a sheet of loose-leaf paper.

  I pull my eyes away from these things. The mind, I’ve been told, is extremely fragile. I’m not positive at what point my mind decided to abandon me. I’m only certain it has. It’s the only plausible explanation for the insanity I’m witnessing. I’m nearly eighteen. Why has my mind created these elementary toddler-ish things?

  I shake my head and move my gaze deeper into the lobby.

  In the middle of all the madness at the unclaimed area, two little girls sit—clearly not twins, but they dress in matching yellow and pink sundresses with silk hats. One of the girls notices me. She motions with the wave of her tiny hand for me to come closer.

  Unable to curb my curiosity, I move forward until I’m standing over them. How precious. It’s odd they would be here, surrounded by this lunacy. They can’t be any older than eight years old.

  I can’t deal with this right now, though. As I turn to leave, the little girl that motioned me over speaks.

  “Hello,” her voice is syrupy sweet. “My name is Annoya and this is my sister Rudena. We are very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiles and extends a tiny hand for me to shake. I don’t shake her hand. I know nothing about kids other than I had been one before and they wet themselves occasionally.

  “Hi.”

  “How long have you been here, dear?” Annoya asks.

  “Oh, you’ve gone and done it now,” Rudena says, speaking for the first time. She rolls her eyes and turns her back to face the entrance to the hotel. She sighs softly as she looks longingly at the hatch, like she wants to leave but can’t.

  “Um, actually,” I say in response to Annoya’s question, “This is my first day here in VOLT
."

  “Really, you don’t say. Well, my sister and I have been here for about 35 years now. We love it here. All the different people. Where are you from, dear? How did you get here? How old are you? When are you leaving? Do you plan to stay long…?” She spits out question after question but never allows me an opportunity to answer.

  “Good Lord girl, shut your trap,” Rudena yells. “Do you see what you’ve done?” she stares directly at me. “You moron. I won’t be able to shut her up for a good year. Maybe two.” As Rudena fusses, Annoya continues talking. She asks an endless amount of questions, as if she doesn’t hear her sister speaking at all.

  “Oh, dear,” Annoya finally exclaims.” I am being so rude. I haven’t allowed you to answer any of my questions. It is not often we have a visitor. I am so very excited.” She bounces on her ballerina-clad tiptoes from one foot to the other. Her pink ruffled socks bounce up and down the more excited she gets. “You see, my sister does not share my affinity for life. That must be why we are stuck here in unclaimed things to annoy each other incessantly until we are moved on to VOUT, I suppose.”

  “I do not annoy, sister. That’s your job, you half-wit,” Rudena says, shaking her little head. I back away from them, not wanting to hear more. I don’t like kids, and I especially don’t like old people who talk nonstop. Annoya and Rudena are a head-pounding combination of both. It’s terrifying.

  My eyes travel to the reception desk, where Joe stands talking with a man in a colorful uniform much like the hatch attendant. Behind the desk, four clocks are mounted high, each with differing times displayed on them. Below the names of the places, in tiny caption, a description of each is written.

  The first clock displays the time in VOLT, “Village of Lost Things—the first stop,” the caption reads. The next clock is the time in VOTI, “Village of Total Idiocrasy. The place of abounding laughter and madness.” The third clock is the time in VOUT—"The Village of Unclaimed Things—no explanation necessary, only an idiot from VOTI wouldn‘t understand,” the caption read. The fourth and final clock shows the time in VOTS. “The Village of Technically Speaking,” the caption read. “The most boring place ever, and we’re not biased.”

  I glance around the lobby in wonderment. It’s like a full-on circus. In all my nearly eighteen years of living, I’ve never seen anything like VOLT. If Ryan is here, I know he loves this quirky place. I’m hoping I can find him soon so we can share in the laughter this place entices out of me.

  Chapter 11

  My eyes rest once more on the odd life-sized doll couple in front at the receptionist desk. The male doll tugs the hidden cord of his companion and she complains incessantly to the receptionist about the condition of their suite, particularly about the temperature. With a voice reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, she says, “What are you trying to do, melt us?”

  I double over on my side, tears collecting in my eyes at the scene. Parts of me can’t believe the bubble of laughter erupting from me again. Other parts don’t give a Florida what anyone else thinks. Yet, still, a fraction of me wants this laughing girl to be who I am. She’s not, unfortunately. Still, I shake with amusement.

  The lobby, once electrified with patrons and workers, ceases to move. It’s as quiet as my high school on a holiday.

  Joe storms to my side and shoves me in the back. “Move it, Giggles.” His lips are twisted to the side, as if he’s trying to hold in his laughter, too. He does a much better job than I do.

  “Here. You’ve gotta blend in,” he says. He pushes a plain black bag into my hand. It has a single item inside: a one-piece fuzzy pajama suit, complete with attached feet. I slam the bag closed with so much force a whoosh sound echoes around me. All eyes are on me again because I’m certain the noise I created with my hand sounds like I expelled gas.

  Great, Sam.

  I pinch my fingers to the bridge of my nose and run my hand along the fading scar on the side of my face. He would choose some crap like this for me to wear. Like I’m five and not almost an adult.

  We walk to a set of elevators toward the back of the lobby. When they open, another doll couple scurries in beside us. The male doll wears a top hat and tuxedo. The female wears a white flowing wedding gown. I assume they’ve gotten married but honestly, here, they could have come from a jog.

  The female seems to have bathed in perfume, too. A sweet, slightly stale smell emanates from her as she stands beside me.

  I hold my breath every couple seconds.

  A pig wearing an Adidas tracksuit and a black bear wearing a purple ruffled tutu round out the occupants on the elevator. I shake my head.

  “What kind of place is this?” I whisper to Joe.

  “It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world, Giggling Psycho,” Joe comments.

  “Eat a box of crayons.”

  “Wow. Did it hurt to come up with that? I’d come back at you, but I don’t want to invest the time. You’re not that important.”

  “That’s especially funny, since I swear I saw you licking the windows at the coffee shop earlier.” He actually cracks a smile at that. “We could insult each other all day, but I’d really like to know what we’re doing here?”

  “We’re going to our room. Now stop talking to me.” He licks his lips and looks around as if he’s making sure no one saw us talking.

  “Right, you have the authority to be as rude as you’d like, because I should be grateful to you.”

  “Please, shush until we get to our room. And stop looking at people… or things.” I cut my eyes to the tutu-wearing bear, then over to him.

  “Are you blind and stupid?” He sucks in his bottom lip and I can tell he’s struggling not to laugh.

  The elevator opens in front of us. “Stop talking and get off the elevator.”

  Our room is on the seventh floor. The décor is quite modern in this section. The lobby had been bathed in the same hideously paired colors of red, yellow, and green. This floor, however, is tastefully decorated with neutral colors and has an earthy modern ambiance.

  The walls are a butterscotch color, with chocolate brown trimmings on the hatches and windows. I walk over to a bureau in front of the elevator. It is made of smooth mahogany wood with intricate carvings of sleeping children. I glance into the mirror above it, also adorned with these carvings along the edges.

  My reflection reminds me of a time long ago. A time I don’t want to think about, but my brain has no off button from the intrusive flashes of a life lived in shadow.

  Happy faces, platters of food, a dog curled around my feet beneath the table… I glance away from her disturbing glare.

  She’s destroying me.

  “Why are you so easily distracted? It’s like you’re five years old,” Joe says from behind me. “Move it, now, Sloth.”

  I turn, intent on an argument. Instead, I bite the inside of my jaw and follow him. He takes long strides ahead of me. I catch up as he opens the hatch to the room we’re sharing for the night. Instead of displaying human decency, he acts his usual barbaric self and lets the hatch slam into my face.

  “You Alaska. Why the Houston did you do that?” I yell at the hatch. Joe doesn’t open it to check I’m uninjured. It’s heavy wood, with a large silver handle knob that hit me squarely in the gut.

  “What’s your problem, dude?” I demand, pushing the hatch open. I’m so frustrated with his behavior, I forget his ‘be quiet at all times’ rule. “Seriously, what is your malfunction?” I’m standing in the entrance with my hands on my hips.

  “Haulloa, stranger. I’m hoping you can help out a chap.” I intend to tell whatever talking pig, or bear, or sock, behind me to leave us the Houston alone. I spin around quickly to see it’s not a bear, or a sock, or even a pig… it’s a real-live guy. He might be a year or two younger than Joe and me, but he’s human. Or a Dud.

  I hesitate for only fractions of a second before saying, “No, go away. Now.” I turn my wrath back to Joe.

  Joe crosses the room in a matter of seconds and thru
sts the hatch open wider so he can peer at the kid who must still be standing behind me. I cringe at the vile words Joe will have for him.

  “Hey. What’s up? Can I help you?” Joe extends a hand for him to shake.

  I spin around, knowing the kid must have gone and Joe’s trying to avoid the tongue beating I’m about to inflict on him. Joe could never be kind to anyone—well, aside from his mother, maybe.

  To my surprise, the kid’s still standing there, though.

  “Howdy.” He tips a worn chocolate brown cowboy cover. It swallows his head and slim face with its heavy brim. “I’m guessin’ yous the big bug around here. I know it’s quite forward a' me, but I’m wonderin' iffin’ I can stay in yours room a night or two. I reckon I been kicked from my room, on account the card don’t work on the door no more.”

  I give the scrawny cowboy a once-over. He’s tall—not as tall as Joe, but taller than me, and skinny to the point he should be seeing a nutritionist. His skin is pale like he hasn’t seen the sun in months, and his eyes are slits in his face. He wears blue jean shorts that crest above his knobby knees, and a long sleeve tie-dye t-shirt that has to be a joke. I'm not much into fashion, but I’m positive he’s committed a fashion faux-pas.

  I stifle a giggle, only because he’s staring intently at me with his cover tipped down.

  Joe and I are enough crazy in one group. We don’t need another person adding to our brand of insane. The kid looks like he hasn’t eaten a well-balanced meal or had any vitamin D in a while. I hope Joe’s not as harsh with him as he is with me.

  I can take it. This kid might disintegrate in front of us.

  Chapter 12

  “Sure. Come on in,” Joe remarks behind me. I jerk myself around to look at him. Is he going to allow this strange boy to stay in our room? I must have missed something.