“Come brother. Put on your colors. It’s time to go.”

There it was. The call to arms. Green on white. Argent, a bend dexter vert. Donning the garment, we became standard bearers. A battle was scheduled and warriors were needed.

The trek to the field was short. No time to reflect on the coming struggles. Warriors streamed in, solemn and somber. Those in red went one way, green and white the other. There was no animosity between them yet. No conflict before the battle and after one is declared the winner, there will be none again. Not only did the combatants show up to do their part, but so did spectators. Streaming into the area, sitting and waiting for the war to begin.

There the participants stood, opposing each other. The men moved restlessly, waiting for the signal to start. They knew it would come shortly, but it was still and eternity. Then a shrill blast from a whistle broke through the silent air. It had begun.

Hurleys swung, sliotar flew, men clashed, titans fell. A steady rain came with the opening whistle, turning the pitch to mud.

The spectators cheered at every point and hit. Applauding for these men, who battled for their pleasure. Then, as quickly as it started, another whistle was blown and it was all over. All the men went back to their respective sides and left the field. They had won. Spectators stood up and discussed the days events with their neighbors.

At the pub, pints were raised, songs were sung and all the warriors of today’s battle were brothers in arms.

Eventually they all stumbled home. Muddy grubby jerseys were stripped off and left on the floor. It would not be until next week that they would hear that call again.

“Come. Put on your colors. It’s time to go.”

“Don’t you think that’s sadistic?”

“What?”

“Listening to Beethoven.”

“Why would that be sadistic?”

“You’re reading A Clockwork Orange at the same time!”

“Oh. The ninth. The glorious ninth. You imply that even though Alex is just a character, it’s like rubbing it in Your Humble Narrator’s litso, during the times when he was unable to slooshy dobby old Ludwig Van.”

“… You sure are queer as one.”

“A what? A clockwork orange? It’s subtle. I’m not concerned with motive or higher ethics. I am only concerned with pleasing myself.”

“A noble goal, Dr. Brodsky.”

Spinning the flint with his thumb shot sparks onto the wick. What was just cold metal a few seconds ago
was now a column of dancing yellow-orange flame. He brought it towards his mouth and to the waiting tobacco. A deep drag on the cigarette brought a heat to his lungs and a greatly anticipated relief to his brain. He exhaled, blowing the out the smoke in a fast moving stream. It was then he noticed how windy it was here. The smoke had hardly left his mouth before the wind took it and threw it back at him.

He looked around himself and saw there were a lot of hills about and many trees. Being that it was autumn, all the trees were losing their leaves. The wind blew red, yellow, orange leaves every which way. The rider could see where various residents had attempted to corral the leaves into neat piles and show off their neatly trimmed lawn. The wind would have none of that though. If the wind wanted a Pollock on the ground, that’s what it got. From his vantage point at the top of the hill, he could look down and see the town below him. It was small, but a lot of the houses were large and it was obvious that this town was the place to live for the wealthy who worked in the city nearby. Given a cursory examination, the town didn’t stand out much from any of the other ones he had been through recently. Everyplace had its restaurants and shops and schools. This one was no different in that regard. The rider then saw something that made the town start to stand out in his mind. It was on top of one of the hills nearby. A single wind turbine, reaching to the sky. Why there was only one and not an entire farm of them was odd, but without an immediate clue as to the reason, he pushed it out of his mind.

Finding there was nothing left to get out of the cigarette, he tossed it to the road and ground it with his boot. It was time to get off this hill and start his search. The man he was looking for had eluded him thus far, but he was almost positive he was located in this town. There was no place else for him to be. It was a great place to hide and he appreciated the skill of his quarry. The hunt was about to end though. He felt it.

Kicking the starter on his motorcycle, the bike roared to life and he started his ride down the hill into town. As he passed it, he took one last gaze at the solitary turbine on the hill.

“INSTANT NEON GARDEN”, the box had said. ‘Instant neon garden?’, she thought. She had no idea what that meant and there were no photos on the box to show her what was in there. It was sealed shut with those large staples that required the jaws of life to remove, so she couldn’t even consider sneaking a peak at it in the store.

Checking every side of the box, she found very little information. Just a repetition of, in a variety of languages, ‘Instant neon garden - Easy set up. Be the talk of the town, impress your friends!’

There was only one left on the shelf, so it must be a popular item she thought. Hefting it into her cart next to a bulk package of forty rolls of 2-ply thousand sheet toilet paper and a container of Kool-aid mix that could turn your entire swimming pool into a purple grape lagoon, she headed for the checkout. The boy at the register dutifully scanned her items, one by one. Watching her total go up and up, she realized she never looked for a price for her new garden. She thought she could just say she didn’t want it when it was scanned if it was too much. When the boy got to it, he aimed the barcode reader gun at the box and got nothing. Frowning, he pulled the trigger again. And again. Finally after hitting the gun against his palm a few times, the box scanned. She was relieved to see that it finally worked and that it was only $10.99. How these wholesale club stores got their prices so low would never cease to amaze her.

During the drive home she was, if anything, anxious. What did it look like? Would it really make her the talk of the town. She pulled into her driveway and took a deep breath. ‘Relax’, she told herself, ‘you’re getting too worked up over this. Wait until it’s nearly dark until you set it up’. It wouldn’t get dark for another few hours, but it would be a good exercise in patience. She placed the box near the backdoor and tried to find something to do for the next two hours.

She soon learned that patience wasn’t her strong suit. She would continually pace back and forth past the box, checking on it every five minutes, to make sure it was still there. She tried washing the dishes, but when she was drying one, she glanced at the clock and attempted to place the plate next to the sink at the same time. The results were less than optimal. Soon she found herself vacuuming the same piece of rug over and over in front of the clock.

It was finally time. The moment of truth was about the arrive. She brought the box outside and set it on the table. She didn’t want to break anything inside, so she first tried to delicately open the box. When the staples and corrugated cardboard resisted that, she went inside and came back with a box cutter. The cardboard fell to the wayside and the contents of the box were revealed.

She pulled them out, one by one and set them up around the yard. She plugged them all into the surge protector that came with her garden and set that near the outlet on the outside of her house that she never used. It was the moment of truth.

When the plug hit the outlet, the results were breathtaking. It was like Las Vegas had upped and moved to her tiny backyard. Begonias, hydrangeas, crocuses. Peony and dahlia on opposite sides of the yard pushed their light towards each other, each trying to out do the other. The instant neon garden was the beacon at the end of Daisy’s dock for her Gatsby.

…to not be continued…

I wrote this short comic a while ago. It’s pretty silly.

FRAME 1
text: I’m tired of being a robot
image: A mean looking robot

FRAME 2
text: Global domination…
image: Robot in throne, people worshiping, people in chains

FRAME 3
text: …fighting other robots
image: Attacking another robot

FRAME 4
text: …crushing humans, it’s getting old
image: Feet stamping goodness

FRAME 5
text: Can I be something else?
image: Rodin think pose

FRAME 6
text: Maybe I can be a musician
image: Robot standing in front of microphone

FRAME 7
text:
image: Yelling into microphone, binary and hex comes out

FRAME 8
text:
image: People screaming, ears bleeding. robot looks sad

FRAME 9
text: Or a chef
image: Chef hat on robot, holding a delicious cake

FRAME 10
text:
image: People eat cake and spit out nuts and bolts

FRAME 11
text: Maybe I can be a doctor
image: Robot, thought bubble, red cross

FRAME 12
text: Robot! you’re hurting people. By the power of Issac Asimov, I command you to stop
image: Person yelling at robot

FRAME 13
text:
image: Robot with one eyebrow raised, confused

FRAME 14
text:
image: Robot eating person

FRAME 15
text: I think I like being a robot
image: Robot back on throne