Rood Der: 04: Even at the Door

By Douglas Christian Larsen

Rood Der: 04: Even at the Door. Frances battles to maintain her sanity while Frederic fights just as hard to retain his bodily fluids, as they make the long march through the tunnel to the Red Door.

How deep are we, immersed in this world we call reality? How many turtles down do we go, in this discombobulated, mixed-metaphor, rabbit-hole world?

Their world might be based on Ayn Rand, her writings, philosophies, and her U.S. Presidency, but how dense are their numbers compressed, and for how long will their simulation even run? This little group has been provided an exit, but would anyone be rude enough to dare and leave their very own reality?

Take the Rude Dare, and Cross over, where data is data, through the Red Door. From the author of Vestigial Surreality comes the new serial novel, Rood Der.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365718892

Book preview

Rood Der: 04: Even at the Door

Rood Der: 04

Even at the Door

The Sunday SciFi-Fantasy Serial

by Douglas Christian Larsen

978-1-365-71889-2

© Douglas Christian Larsen 2017

Please notice the sky, he said as they turned into the small cul-de-sac where Crash House waited, harboring their secrets, their gateway to the Gateway. Frederic had brought Frances here for several parties, and quiet dinners—everyone knew everyone—but today would be the first day that she would pass through, from one place, to another place, and finally to that other place. He wanted her to really notice this world.

Okay, what about it? she asked, snuggled in next to him behind the steering Tee, her cheek pressed against his as they looked up through the driver’s window at the faded gray-blue sky.

What color would you say that is?

She studied the sky. It was mostly clear of clouds, but throughout the dome was a latticework of knitted white lines, dispersed clouds, jet engine contrails, and of course the ever-present chemtrails, which were fluffier, more substantive than the contrails. The contrails, mostly steam, dispersed after minutes into the blue of the dome, but the chemtrails hung about all day, drifting, expanding, sometimes almost becoming clouds, long serpentine clouds.

Blue? she said.

Frederic chuckled, despite the warning gurgles from his gut—he had to stay in control, it was now more important than ever, because Frances was here, and she loved him, and to suddenly void his bowels, now, in front of her—right beside her! Oh, but he had to get in and use the restroom, and fast. No more chuckling. He shouldn’t even really smile. They should build some sort of restroom into the car seat, now that would be handy. Car sewage treatment. What a concept.

What’s so funny about blue? she wanted to know.

"Well, let me remind you a while later, just remember your description, blue, okay?" he said, grinning, and then reminded himself not to even grin.

It is difficult to get a true reading on the color of the sky, with all the...dabbling. Smog, pollution, all the smoke around the edges.

"Good points, all of them. Remember everything you are seeing