Xangles > Frangles > Kyle Kirby > Chapter Zread note before reading 
Frangles: Kyle Kirby, Book #?
Chapter Z (Last Chapter)


              "Death for all, death for all..."
              "Spider?"
              "I was just mimicking.  Guess again."
              "Sam."  Kyle looked around.  The whole universe was a pure white, puffy fog.  Kyle was vaguely aware of his body, but mostly just felt like the ghost from Boo Berry cereal yanked off the box and stuck in a timeless oblivion.  Sam seemed a presence half with him--looking out on a high cliff at the wondrous world as Simba's father--and half a kid standing over his hamster's cage about to move him to a new one, a little annoyed at the chore.
              "Where are we?"
              "Where do you want it to be?"
              "I want to be blacked out, having hit my head on a pole outside a really good sub shop, about to open my eyes, with a few hot girls crowding around to see if I'm okay, girls who like crazy kids."
              "What if you're dead?  What if there's a funeral next week.  Your parents would weep, your friends would live on without you."  He let it sink in, and Kyle frused longer and more deeply than he ever had.
              "Well?  Am I dead?"
              "If you are, what's all this?"
              "Maybe the Buddhists were right and I'm heading for my next life."
              "Or maybe the Christians were right."
              "And this is heaven?  It does look kind of puffy."
              "What about you're mortal sin?"
              "But I turned back.  After that I had no choice."
              Sam sighed.  "It's a wonder you even follow through with wiping the crap off your ass."
              "Anyway, I'm like your dog, and dogs go to heaven."
              "And gays go to hell."
              "So I guess Tommy is pretty much screwed."
              "Well, he's only kinda bisexual, so maybe purgatory for him."
              "Lucky duck... Hey where do gay dogs go?"
              There was a pause at the unanswered pondering, a bottled note thrown out into the infinite meta-sea for anyone to answer.  The white fog stirred just a little in boredom.
              "Can I be a dolphin?"
              "We haven't established you're dead yet."
              "I want to be a dolphin."
              "What color?"
              "Yellow-speckled orange... Even if I'm not dead, I at least want a good deleted ending where I get to be a yellow-speckled orange dolphin...  And then the sequel will be Kolphin the Dolphin.  If there is a sequel..."
              "There's always a sequel.  You think Frodo could walk into Mordor with no final conflict with Sauron at the end of the trilogy?"
              "Or a vast technological Empire--resisted by a rebellion--that isn't eventually destroyed by harmless Fuzzy ewoks with sticks and rocks on a remote planet... So, while we're all metaphory, what was my ring?"
              "Maybe it was the necessary destruction of your human schizophrenia.  Now it's all real.  A third sight."
              "I'm sure glad you're with me, Sam," Kyle mocked.
              "Who says I'm staying?"
              "Could we kill the suspense and tell me what the hell is going on."   
              "You're not dead."
              "Then what."  Pause.  "I'm in a coma."
              "You got close enough to the shore for the waves to beach you.  Luckily there was someone nearby."
              "Or not so luckily.  Now I have to stay."
              "Earth 'aint so bad.  Besides, you're my favorite hamster."
              "Not time to flush me down the toilet just yet."
              The white fog-wind attempted to make a flushing sound in parody, but failed.
              "Nah, I'll wait until you're a graduate physics and philosophy major who's denied a PhD for his idiotic thesis relating fractals to tile mildew and then really has something to be depressed about."
              Another pause.  "Sooo... this is coma-town..."
              "It's like what happens when your brain crashes.  Or the blank page of a beatnik revising his screenplay or starting a new one."
              "Well which the hell is it?  Do I wake up? Or stay in your stupid cardboard waiting box while you forever procrastinate changing my cage?"
              "Maybe I have a nifty new digital one for you to run around in."
              "So reboot me already."
              "Alright, here we go."
              He had a feeling like Sam was putting his hand on his shoulder and pointing somewhere on the horizon, or maybe lifting him out of his cage for the first time and placing him in the box.  Sam ruffled his hair, annoying and frusing Kyle, and he instinctively closed his eyes.  The white fog swirled to a whirlwind all around, which it did just to feel useful in creating some kind of appropriate atmosphere.  Soon there were crackles of fragmented thunder, and Sam stood by as if staying with a puppy scared of a harmless storm.  The whirlwind became his past, and fragments of Kyle's life began to whizz by in his head like the trees on the side of the highway on his way his first admission--his first neutering via meds--future unknown, the toaster-warm bread-filled setting or rising sun--he couldn't remember which it was that day--the only constant.  His soul felt like a heavy, 170-pound lump of lime jello.
              Awareness did a twirl as it leapt and dove into the ocean of infinite fractal code--operating system Zero--and Kyle finally saw his life in perfect symmetry to everything else.  He saw Earth's biological brain interpretation of consciousness, and the Kroffonulanian begram code of it.  His friends and family were momentarily reduced to equations and algorithms.  TellKyle("Hey man").  KyleEat("Lucky Charms").  KyleGetsLaidToday=Always_Off.  He laughed at passing by the full flash code for homestarrunner.com, and the version of Kant who was publishing it under the title "Critique of Pure Reason."  Though he hadn't seen it, he shared the joyous epiphany of a bunch of nerds floating near him--having gotten here by overdosing on wisdom teeth pain medication--of where the flying hell the moronic self-destruct codes in Star Trek III actually originated.  He rode the Great O/S over the new plains and the forgotten junkyard--Bastian on Falkor--waving with a sigh to Grornoff and Ketchup, wondering how Bastian could be fully happy leaving his father behind to suffer the sad paperwork for posting his face on local milk cartons for the next few years.
              Finally he saw all the places he might now be dumped to.  He could wake up from his coma on Earth any instant, or wake as Susan in a nursing home having dozed off and dreamt about her long-dead husband (Kyle felt the presence of doctors ready to give him a quick sex change so he could wake up female).  Somewhere else he was being born a klitten on Pluto from an imported Kroffonulanian Siamese cat, to the joy of the junkyard girl, now in a brightly-colored dress with a unicorn whose plush guts weren't gruesomely spilling.  Somewhere he was becoming a presence hovering over a whole land, whose name was changing: Kroffonulania...  Kroffuton... Kruton... Krypton?  No, that's taken, thought a writer in Ohio deciding on the final name for his science fiction screenplay.  Kylania... Kyell?  No, that's a name.  Ughh... Somewhere the writer's distant cousin was forming the idea for his book, debating on Brian, Kyle, or Kody.  He circled Kyle, then crossed out "short butterscotch hair" and re-wrote "curly pudding-colored" above it.
              Kyle noted he could very well turn into something non-Kyle-like, like an asexual frog, a backyard kiddie pool with post traumatic stress disorder from being peed in last month at a birthday party by too many lemonaid-pumped kids, or a young, bored, man-made ADD astrochicken wandering the stars.
              In all the possibility there was a chaotic indecision like a rich lady debating what ruby-studded collar to get her toy poodle.  His body in the hospital bed on Earth became a Dell laptop, his family and friends frusing at their crashed computer, and Sam was there rebooting in safe mode.  It passed a systems check which got a thumbs up from Tommy, then there was that difficult second-and-a-half window where you had to press a key if you wanted to enter the core options menu; Sam hit it in time.  All that came up on the options screen were a junk food menu of distraced, wandering fractals.

*       *       *

              "...Okay, so that's about it.  Quickly as the credits start rolling, let's say a few quick things.  John, do you have anything else to say?"
              "Well, it was such a joy playing Kyle.  We have so much in common.  I love Homestar, and I wasn't the most popular kid in high school.  I felt so lucky to be doing since this since I desperately wanted to play Donnie in Richard Kelly's first film, but they said I was too young when they were casting for it.  So to live out that dream of playing a strange, gifted kid was quite a rush."
              "When I read the first page of the script, the first thing I thought was, oh god, I hope this isn't a Hitchhiker's clone, and of course it wasn't.  While it borrowed a little from Douglas Adams, it was mostly pretty original, and made me laugh quite a bit.  When I read it I most wanted to play Tommy, and got my choice."
              "This might be an off-beat comparison, but I compared it more than anything to X-men 3."
              "How so?"
              "Well, the mutants are freaks like Kyle, strange and feared, and yet they save the planet from innocents who try to suppress their powers and make them normal."
              "But don't you think that's somewhat justified?"
              "Well sure, but I think psychiatry goes to an extreme trying to suppress every bit of someone’s 'superpowers' out of them, instead of teaching people to control their gifts and hone and sharpen them."
              "What was your guys' favorite part?"
              "I cracked up at the squirt gun suicide, I think we pulled that off great.  I remember you couldn't stop laughing, John, it took forever to get the final cut."
              "Yah, yah."
              "Do you think you'll write a Frangles 2, Chaz?"
              "Oh, I have so many ideas for scripts, I don't know if I'd bother writing a sequel.  See Kyle is basically me if I were a straight and at least slightly popular high school kid if my craziness had started back then, so this was just like taking a few photos of my life and adding frosting.  I'm not sure anyone would want to read another biography, but I have three dozen ideas for different movies in my scrip-queue."
              "I think I would direct another Frangles if I was asked."
              "Hey, imagine if our commentary was actually prose at the end of the novel, or--"
              "Okay, Kyle, let's keep it down to earth."
              "Alright, that's about it.  Hope you enjoyed, and I suppose you'll see some of us in Frangles 7 if we're all really lucky.  Enjoy the rest of the credits."
              "Death for all, death for all."
              "That's a terrible line to leave them with!  The movie was about life."
              "It was a 300-page infomercial for Home Star Runner."
              "It was just my latest souffle."
              "Who said that?"    >>
Xangles > Frangles > Kyle Kirby > Chapter Zread note before reading