This is What Happens

"This is what happens

When you live to live

Another Day

Take my pain away

Cut and Cut

Flesh be mended

And condemned again

Higher forces are at hand

All through the sea and land

No one can hide,

Teach the teacher to be kind

This is what Happens when you cut it all away..."

RADITUS

"Yeah, that's great, but what do you want as the Chorus line?"

I, Raditus Twobit, looked up from where I had my head lain on my new desk. "What," I asked, blinking oncoming sleep my eyes. I looked at Miranda Twobit, my sister in puzzlement.

"Well, the Chorus line could say, like, 'cut it, cut it, cut it all away!" Miranda replied. "Rad, we were supposed to move here to help us think about the songs!" She added in an exasperated tone.

"Maybe we should just flee here... I can't seem to write anything."

"Whatever," Miranda retorted, stepping towards the door. "I should go for a walk and come back then we try again." I shrugged my shoulders. 'We might have to write another song." Miranda left.

I let out a harsh sigh and sat on her couch with a flop. Why was it all going to hell here? Miranda and I thought it would be cool to do dream teleportation into a reality where Mort Rainey was not mental. Should have figured our vacation would go up in smoke! After we got here and bought a place, we found out that we actually needed a source of income. Since some of the music bands that existed in our reality did not exist in Mort Rainey's reality, Miranda and I had no difficulties writing music lyrics and selling them off.

I he shook my dishwater blonde hair, what the hell was I thinking? I glared at the Credenza we brought over with us the two doors at the bottom mocked me with their contents as there were glass windows built into them. Years ago, I'd lost the Barrel Lock keys that went with them. Feeling pissed just then, I climbed the stairs to my workbench overhead. I flipped on the strong overhanging lamp and swung it so that the beam would hit the bench. Pieces of metal, wires, ECT covered it. Miranda had scolded me before on wanting to do all the work, but I didn't ever want to pressure Miranda on doing everything. I didn't want to use her, knowing very well Miranda would get pissed and leave. The bad stuff would happen!

MIRANDA

I was upset at Raditus's apparent lack of wanting to write. I was upset mainly that Raditus was to prideful, knowing full well that I could also do the work! Without thinking, I took many paths and small roads. I jogged up this little tar laden road, my legs feeling heavy and a strange burning.

"I overextended myself," I said as I sighed grumpily, "just friggin great!"

I saw a lake house looming and slowed my pace. There was an old model station wagon. As I got closer, I saw the doors had a wooden toned paneling; the main part of it was light blue. I came close to the car and put my hand on it. The metal also had, from what I saw, splotches of rust on it. The blue finish also had the same kind of light talc-like covering that old cars get, and that what formed on the car that used to be at the old home of Raditus. I brought her hand away and examined my fingers, the dust leaving a shiny, light film. I hurried wiped it off, making a grimace. Then an angry bellow made me jump and almost crap my pants!

"What in Jesus H. Christ's name are you doing' to my car?" I gasped and stood, frozen in shock as John Shooter himself stormed down the very small flight of steps. He stormed towards me, glaring at me like the fury from Hell! I was actually cowed by this and took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry," I stumbled out as the angry man stood right next to his car, clenching his fists and jaw in anger. "I never saw a car like this." And I never saw a delusion strait out of a man's head, either!

"So," He began curtly, "You been figuring' its mighty right to touch some car that don' belong to you?" the fire in his eyes didn't go away. I threw up my hands in surrender, not wanting to take this argument anything further then it had to go.

"Sorry mister, I didn't leave a scratch on her paint or anything."

"You better not," He said sourly, glaring at me, relaxing his posture somewhat. "Otherwise, you'd be paying me for the damages."

Christ in all Hell; here I was, arguing with a Hick supposedly a part of Mort Rainey's delusions! I happened to glance up and see Mort Rainey twitching his curtain aside, obviously wanting to see what this newcomer was arguing with John Shooter for! Then, I guess, John saw that I wasn't paying attention to the seriously of the situation for he started yelling again. .

"Miss, I am not up at that house," He began, raising his voice. "I am right 'ere!" He finished, yelling.

"Sorry, yeah," I forced myself to look at john Shooter. There was something off and scary about him. It was a creepiness you didn't get a whole lot of watching the movie and I didn't want to be around him anymore than I had to, "If the paint's been damaged, Ill pay." I ran off before he could get in anymore threats or anything!

JOHN

Damn ass, stealing my story? And for what, to score some middle ages lady friends?! I thought angrily as I turned around slowly. As I was leaving the porch, I slammed the rock down on the manuscripts. That story stealer will read it eventually, he knows what he did! I happened to turn around to see an obvious trouble-maker ducked down. The little delinquent was next to my car, touching it! This blew my stack real good! I practically lunged out of the damned screened porch!

"What in Jesus H. Christ's name are you doing to my car?" I stormed towards her, glaring at her like the fury from Hell! The girl, who had to be in her early twenties was actually cowed by this and took a few steps back. That little cow better known her place! I thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry," the girl could barely form her word and I clenched my fists and jaw in anger. "I never seen a car like this." the girl added.

"So," I began curtly, "You been figuring its mighty right to touch some car that don' belong to you?" the girl threw up her arms, giving up the argument.

"Sorry mister, I didn't leave a scratch on her paint or anything."

"You better not," I said sourly, glaring at her, relaxing my posture somewhat. "Otherwise, you'd be paying me for the damages." Then the girl looked up, past me. I don't know why, but it pissed me off, the gall of this girl to insult me by not paying attention to the serious of my car!

"Miss, I am not up at that house," I began, yelling, "I am right 'ere!"

"Sorry, yeah," the girl said, acting intimidated. I was satisfied; there was no better way to win an argument than to look like you can chew nails. I guess I was sort of surprised that a farmer like me could ever scare people just by standing in a spot, speaking softly. But it happened, and mostly in opportune times, "If the paint's been damaged, Ill pay." I was just about to ask her if she was lost, but the girl ran off. No manners at all! I thought as I got in my car.