Orphan of Reality

By Tony Espino

Atop a golden pedestal, inside a Bigfoot hair salon, sits a baby lint ball driving a long and deadly sword down her throat. Her name is Isabella, and her only prospect of freedom lies in the hands of a sleep-deprived teenager named Hank.

Hank finds himself in this unusual predicament when a shortcut to a party lands him in an unknown universe. In the process of exploring his new world, Hank succumbs to the advances of a flirtatious talking flower which sets off a string of events that lead to Isabella’s abduction by giant lint brushes. In the aftermath of the abduction, Hank joins Isabella’s father on a journey through a rotten land of despair on an unpredictable rescue mission.

Reuniting Isabella with her family is anything but easy, as Hank continues to battle the effects of insomnia that leave his body exhausted, and his mind filled with self-doubt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Espino
• Release date: Aug 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301802388

Tony Espino

I was twelve, and I stole a pen from a video store. They saw me steal it. My punishment: late fees every time I returned. If I returned it on time, then it was two days late. If it was a day late, then it was three days late. This was a problem since I loved video games and would rent them on a regular basis. The money to do so I had to earn from chores. This was another problem for a slacker such as myself who wanted nothing more than to play Sega Genesis while listening to Dr. Dre's Chronic album. All of this because of a pen. I took my frustrations out on that pen for the madness it brought to my life, writing whatever nonsense popped into my head for hours until I expended every last drop of ink that gave life to that cursed pen. But, as it turns out, the nonsense still remains long after the ink is gone.

Book preview

~~~ ~*~ ~~~

Orphan of Reality

Tony Espino

Published by Tony Espino

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Tony Espino

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

Hank had vaguely remembered the day when there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see sleep waving goodbye as it boarded a train to the moon. The days became lost, and all Hank wanted was his dear friend back. Then, one day there came a knock at his door. A package. With a return address 238,900 miles away. Hank made the mistake of opening this package before sleep had arrived. It was labeled: Dreams.

Chapter 2

Into the darkness of the windy night, Hank threw his jacket onto a pile of leaves and studied the sky above. Stars shook off their ageless dust, and dying gods smiled down on him with hesitation. He tried to remember why he was walking, and why the scenery didn’t appear to change. Hank wondered how many hours he had forced his puny legs to propel his awkward skeleton down this desolate road. Although he didn’t have a watch, he did have a strong desire to conduct a successful experiment in mind over matter.

Hank had attempted several times already on his journey down this road to make himself disappear. And now, like any lost teenage soul wishing to vanish, he tried once again. Most magicians tend to rely on illusions for tricks of this nature, but Hank was depending on pure magic alone. He stood perfectly still and attempted to refrain from breathing. He believed that making himself utterly still would provide the most conducive environment for the vibrations to reach the appropriate level for body dematerialization. As it turns out, he was wrong.

Hank remained motionless, his heart still pumping, and his lungs still taking in the lonely air from the atmosphere he desired to escape. His body remained fully intact as he, in fact, did not disappear at all. Perhaps he would try again in a few thousand more toe-numbing steps. Unconsciously, Hank began scratching at the lower right side of his neck. The soft, tender area easily irritated where his own jacket had been itching him before he hastily discarded it. Traitor, he thought. As he continued to scratch, he felt the universe sucking up massive chunks of precious minutes like a pinball machine acquiring a high score. Smoke began billowing out around his fingers as flames began to appear from his neck. Hank screamed in horror as he patted the side of his neck in an attempt to extinguish the blaze.

His eyes grew large as he instantly became aware, and slowly all of his current commotion came to a halt. With a heavy sigh, he closely examined his hand. Showing no visible signs of burns he laughed realizing his neck wasn't on fire after all.

Hey fella, what’s so funny? questioned a man in a tiny red wagon by the side of the road.

Hank wasn’t sure where the man or the wagon had suddenly appeared from. Are you talking to me? Hank replied.

Yeah. Isn’t it amazing? You want a ride out of this place?

Hank walked over, slowly dragging his feet not entirely sure about the man's intentions. As he approached the wagon the man spread open his arms welcoming Hank into his small mysterious world, Don’t be bashful. Come on in.

I’m not quite sure. I don’t actually know you, Hank replied.

Suit yourself, kid. But this rain isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Wherever it is you’re planning on going, hopefully they have dry clothes. Where’d ya say you were heading?

Hank thought for a moment trying to remember exactly where his destination was. Just up the road. Right off the highway -

The man smiled, shaking his head as if withholding a secret. Allow me the honors, would you? I’ll return you in no time.

Hank looked at the stretch of freeway behind him where he had traveled and then at the road ahead. His heart waved a tattered white flag in surrender. Hank began to feel his hamstring muscles fill with lactic acid and knew his legs couldn’t take much more movement. Reluctantly he squeezed into the wagon. I would say thanks, but I'm still not sure if you're going to stab me or not. I'm hoping not as I have a tendency to get a little gassy when I get stabbed. Especially in the face, Hank warned. Suddenly the man whipped out a switchblade and held it inches from Hank's face. I guess I should get rid of this then? he said as he tossed the switchblade on the street. Just then the wind came strolling through and began tossing the switchblade around as a rattlesnake undulated across the street. The musical reptile paused and, thinking about its newly formed street gang, swallowed the switchblade and slithered away.

Hank, unable to control his nerves, belched directly into the man’s face. Wow. That was not appropriate, Hank pointed out. Unsure of what to do, Hank attempted to wave the burp away from the man’s face. Here, let me just take that back. He used both hands to wave the burp back into his mouth. There we go. All better now.

Burp particles and an expression that one might consider shock covered the man's face. I dreamed of you burping in my face ever since we first met, the man said. Now that we’re done exchanging pleasantries, how about we get you outta here?

Hank's knees were shaking from fear and too much caffeine. But he nodded his head and hoped for the best. A long velour carpet rolled out in front of the wagon creating a crimson red walkway for yet unknown quests. Hank brushed the fine strands of his hair away from his face as he marveled at the nature of the elegant carpet layered in ivy and dead flowers. The outline of hundreds of beings suddenly manifested on the carpet, each one as indistinguishable as the next. With a loud howl, and blatant disregard toward the speed limit, these beings began pulling the wagon down the highway.

Did I ever tell you about the time I got drunk with the gnomes in your head? the man asked Hank.

No. You haven’t told me anything. In fact, I still don't think you've told me your name yet. Mine’s Hank. Hank’s hand dangled there awaiting a handshake from the mysterious man as they continued at incredible speeds. The unchanging scenery was now just a constant blur.

Nice to make your acquaintance Hank. Let me tell you, the man said, those gnomes sure can party. They will suck every bit of your being into their bellies before spewing it into a mug. Really, there’s no option but to drink it. Here’s a little piece of advice for you: you're never thirsty enough to drink your entire soul. Oh, of course, I’d be remiss if I failed to mention the coughing that accompanies this endeavor. Well, let’s just say -

As Hank's reality started slowly returning to him, he could hear loud voices cheering. Something wet splattered across his face. Still raining perhaps.

Hank! Hank! Get down! screamed a male voice below him.

Reality, smacking Hank in the face, revealed the cheering as hysterical laughter. As Hank wiped the wetness from his face, he looked at his hand and saw it covered in mashed potatoes.

Come on get down! What are you doing up there? the male voice continued to shout.

Hank with a blank look on his face glanced around to find himself in his high school cafeteria standing atop of a lunch table being laughed at by hundreds of other students. His friends, having mercy on him, finally pulled him off the table forcing him into his seat.

What are you some kind of comedian now? asked Kevin.

Just standing up there screaming about getting stoned with garden gnomes? You’re lucky they only threw mashed potatoes at your face, Melvin added.

I don't remember any of that, Hank said as he stared at Melvin’s giant forehead trying to recall what had happened.

You're going to wish you didn't. I think Sheila may have just seen your epic performance, Charlie noted.

After wiping off the potatoes, Hank buried his face in his clammy hands. Oh man. I was truly hoping to tongue kiss her with my mouth too. Now she's not going to want to have anything to do with my mouth since she's seen what it's capable of, he said in defeat.

Hank had longed to be with Sheila since they first met in the sixth grade where she sat at her desk wearing jeans that fell just short of her ankles. Hank, ever the creative one, would continue to drop his pencil on the floor to gain a quick glimpse of Sheila’s exposed ankle skin. When Sheila caught on she made sure to lecture and emasculate Hank in front of their classmates. But that didn’t stop his creepy love from blossoming. His bedroom closet was full of stuffed teddy bears and stale chocolate truffles he accumulated over the years from being too shy to give to her. But deep down in his hollow four-chambered heart he knew that one day they would share a special moment and afterwards be together forever. That was Hank’s dream of course, and we all know sometimes dreams come true.

You need to redeem your mouth. It's as simple as that, Melvin suggested with confidence as he tapped his fork against his teeth.

The bell rang marking the end of lunch and round one of Hank being humiliated. As everyone began exiting the cafeteria, they walked by Hank and made sure to point and laugh at him just in case he got the idea to start feeling like a normal person. No longer enjoying being on display, Hank ungracefully made his way through the crowd and spotted Alicia. Or was it Sheila? It was Sheila. Yes, it certainly was. Her long, purple, braided hair was unmistakable. He approached her and shyly muttered, Hey, how's it going?

Sheila looked at him and sighed heavily as her eyes slowly drifted from Hank's face down to the ground next to her. Then Sheila vomited. Hank thought about how adorable his delicate flower looked in that moment as her eyes bulged out of her head and snot bubbled from her nostrils. He suddenly began to wonder if it were rude, the way she was behaving. But, never one to exhibit poor etiquette, Sheila wiped her mouth on Hank's shirt. His questions regarding her mannerisms were quickly put to rest. This was the kind of girl he could bring home to his mother - if he wanted to be put up for adoption. Without offering as much as an apology Sheila turned and continued toward her class. Walking away she looked back at Hank and gave him a wink. The kind of wink that says, my stomach insides are on your shirt.

Hank hurriedly began walking down the hall toward his classroom, staring at the monstrosity on his cotton short sleeve, when someone out of nowhere came up and shoved him into the lockers. Dressed in a trench coat, brown top hat, and a sparkling monocle, this person was a real classy fella minus his sudden violent outbursts. With Hank pressed up against the locker, the man moved his head back and forth gradually closing in on Hank’s face. His hot breath landed on Hank's face like a dead platypus. The man pressed his thick mustache up to Hank's nose, and there it remained.

I hear someone's in need of a mouth redemption? the man asked.

That would be me, Hank responded.

You're in luck. I'm a certified mouth redeemer. He punched the locker next to Hank's head, and thousands of papers poured out on the floor. You see those? Those are testimonials regarding my impeccable service. You'd be wise to read them. All of them.

Hank bent down trying to retrieve the papers and spotted what he thought was a hoof coming out the bottom of the man’s trench coat. The man yanked him back up and said, Not now. Can’t you see I'm trying to do something?

Hank scratched the side of his neck and wondered where this man came from and, more importantly, what Sheila had for lunch. Whatever she ate it didn't smell like something he wanted to keep on his shirt forever and ever like a blood stain.

So, do we have a deal? asked the man.

No.

The man told Hank to close his eyes, and then whispered in Hank’s floppy ear, Smell my mustache. Real quick.

Hank with his eyes closed smelled the man's mustache, and was pleasantly surprised that he enjoyed the smell of sophistication and wet oak trees. He began smiling as he rubbed his haunches into the lockers. Opening his eyes he noticed the man had disappeared, and a business card lay in his hand. All of the mouth redeemer’s contact information displayed on a beautifully crafted card. It felt like magic, or rather, cardboard in the palm of his hand. Must be a new kid, Hank thought. Shouldn't you be in class instead of grinding up on school property, mister? The principle was staring at Hank in disgust, chewing on her pencil and ever so happy that she wasn't a locker.

I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was watching. I mean I didn't know how...I don't think...I'm going to go to class now

Not so fast! the principle shouted.

Hank froze and stood there like a frightened puppy dog with his penis between his legs.

I should have that locker removed, said the principle. She folded her arms awaiting an explanation.

I'm sorry. It was just my butt. It's not even a big deal. It was mostly my jeans. The butt part of my jeans mostly and I barely sat anywhere that filthy today, Hank tried to explain.

I meant I should have it removed for your personal use. As a gift from me to you. She gnawed on her pencil unsure of what to make of this odd young man.

No, it's fine. I umm...already have one. Thanks anyway.

Hank ran off down the hall searching for his classroom. He slowed down and thought, I can't go to class with Sheila's vomit on me. I’m not an intestinal plumber. Even if she is the only girl I know who vomits glitter and