Trailer Park Diaries: TPD, #1

By Aaron Abilene

A group of people from a trailer park stumble into a fantasy world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: May 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224214280

Book preview

Trailer Park Diaries

Written by Aaron Abilene

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Buster Kravitz flipped a burger with one hand and tossed a biting quip over his shoulder with the other, You know, Catalina, if sarcasm burned calories, we'd both be invisible by now.

Catalina Ramirez leaned against the diner's chipped Formica counter, her laughter mingling with the sizzle of the grill. Oh, I can see it now: 'The Great Houdini Duo,' disappearing from this greasy oasis faster than your infamous 'steak specials.'

Hey, Buster protested, feigning offense as he plated the pseudo-steak with a flourish worthy of a magician. My culinary disasters are the only thing keeping the health inspectors in business.

True, she nodded, smirking. Without you, they'd actually have to find real jobs.

The bell above the diner door jangled as a couple of regulars walked in, their eyes instantly drawn to Buster’s exaggerated bow. Welcome to Chez Trailer Trash, where the ambiance is as stale as the jokes, he announced, earning a chorus of chuckles.

Speak for yourself, Buster, called out a grizzled patron from the corner booth, winking at Catalina. I come here for the sparkling conversation and the hope that one day, you'll actually get my order right.

Hope, Buster retorted with a twinkle in his eye, is what keeps us all going, isn't it, Jim? That, and the mystery meatloaf.

Ah, but without mysteries, life would be dreadfully boring, Catalina chimed in, sliding a freshly topped-off coffee mug across the counter. And you, Buster Kravitz, are anything but boring.

Flattery will get you everywhere, Ramirez, Buster said, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder. But sadly, not out of this trailer park.

Yet, she added, her smile unwavering. We'll get out of here yet.

Sure, Buster snorted, his gaze meeting hers with a shared flicker of resolve beneath their banter. Just after we win the lottery or discover that the secret ingredient in my chili has magical properties.

Or both, Catalina concluded with a playful raise of her eyebrows before turning to greet the new customers. What can I get you gents on this fine example of suburban paradise?

Escape plans, one of them joked, eliciting a communal laugh that filled the small space, momentarily lifting the weight of the world—or at least the trailer park—off their shoulders.

The neon 'Open' sign flickered above the entrance to the diner as Catalina Ramirez tied her apron a notch tighter, steeling herself for the second shift. Her gaze momentarily drifted to the photograph tucked behind the cash register – two beaming boys, her sons, with energy enough to power the city if only it could be harnessed. She drew a deep breath, remnants of laughter from Buster's latest wisecrack still hanging in the air, and turned to face the evening rush.

Mommy, when are you coming home? The question echoed in her mind, asked in unison by her twins earlier that morning, their small faces pressed against the window as she left for work.

Soon, my little hurricanes, she had promised, a pang of guilt tightening her chest. I'll have a surprise for you.

It was that promise that propelled her now, her movements efficient as she juggled orders, refilled ketchup bottles, and offered smiles that didn't quite reach her tired eyes. But Catalina's smile never faltered, her resilience woven into every coffee pour, every wiped-down table. They would get out of this place, she vowed silently. She would make sure of it.

Just outside the diner's steamy windows, the silhouette of Trent loomed on his perch—a dilapidated couch that had seen better days and cleaner owners. A nimbus of scented vapor cloaked him like an emperor in a foggy shroud, the sweet smell of artificial strawberries wafting into the evening air.

Man, I'm telling you, one of these days, I'm gonna take this vaping thing to the next level, Trent mused out loud, more to himself than the empty beer cans that served as his loyal audience. His fingers danced around the mod, summoning another puff of smoke with the ease of a sorcerer conjuring a familiar spirit. I'll be like, the Vape King of the Mid-West. No, no—the world!

A passerby shook their head, muttering about wasted youth as they sidestepped the cloud of Trent's grand dreams. But Trent paid no heed, lost in visions of grandeur where effort was unnecessary, and fame was as simple as inhaling and exhaling. The glow from his device cast shadows on his face, playing off the stark reality that outside his vapor-filled fantasies, motivation was a currency he was bankrupt in.

Catalina caught a glimpse of Trent from the corner of her eye as she delivered a plate of fries to table four. She couldn't help but feel a surge of something—irritation, pity, determination; it was hard to tell which—as she looked at him, sprawled on his throne of lethargy. She thought of her own boys, of the future she was trying to carve out for them with every double shift, and her spine straightened a little more.

Can't rule a kingdom if you can't even get off your couch, she muttered under her breath, though there was no malice in it—only the hard-earned wisdom of someone who knew that the world gave nothing without demanding something in return.

Another round of burgers, Catalina! called the cook from behind the grill.

Coming right up! she called back, rolling up her sleeves. The promise to her sons whispered once again through her mind, fueling her resolve as she pushed forward, one order at a time.

The wind chimes clanged a discordant symphony as Mrs. Dillard shuffled down the rickety steps of her trailer, a basket of freshly laundered clothes balanced on her hip. Her lips were pursed in their usual frown, eyes scanning the park with a hawk-like precision that missed nothing—not the stray cat slinking beneath a rusting Buick, nor Trent's vapor clouds wafting lazily into the sky.

Mrs. Dillard, ma'am, a hesitant voice called out, and she turned to see young Billy from two trailers down, his face smudged with grease and hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Speak up, boy, she snapped, not unkindly, I haven't got all day.

Ma said the laundry machine's broke again, and with Pa still lookin' for work... His voice trailed off, but his eyes held a silent plea that crept through the cracks of Mrs. Dillard's stern exterior.

Give me those dirty rags, she replied gruffly, extending her free arm. I'll have 'em clean and pressed by supper. Before Billy could stutter his thanks, she added, And tell your Ma to add a pinch of baking soda next time; it helps with the grime.

With a grateful grin splitting his face, Billy ran back to his home, leaving Mrs. Dillard to mutter about the deficiencies of modern parenting, even as she made room in her basket for his family's laundry.

Not far from Mrs. Dillard's act of concealed charity, Zeke stood atop an upturned milk crate, his wild hair a nimbus in the sunlight, as he addressed a small cluster of the park's denizens. Arms gesticulating wildly, he spun his tale with the fervor of a preacher at a pulpit.

Friends, neighbors, open your minds! Zeke proclaimed, voice rising above the hum of the air conditioners. The signs are clear as the chemtrails in the sky! The extraterrestrial envoys are preparing for their imminent arrival!

A few heads nodded, while others exchanged skeptical glances, yet all were captivated by Zeke's impassioned rant. He pointed toward a series of crudely drawn diagrams flapping on a string behind him, depicting various alien spacecraft and celestial alignments.

Last night, the dance of the Pleiades revealed the truth, Zeke continued, tapping a constellation chart with a stick. Their cosmic ballet is aligning for the first time in millennia, signaling the dawn of a new era!

Zeke, you sure it wasn't just the streetlights flickering again? called out a voice tinged with humor, but Zeke was undeterred.

Mockery is the shield of the ignorant! he retorted, eyes ablaze. But when the mothership descends, who will be laughing then?

Heads tilted upwards as if expecting an intergalactic spectacle at any moment, caught between disbelief and the tantalizing possibility that their eccentric neighbor might just hold the key to the universe's mysteries.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the trailer park, a peculiar glow began to emanate from Zeke's abode. It flickered at first, hesitant like the twinkle of a distant star, but grew steadily in intensity until it bathed the rusted metal and peeling paint of nearby trailers in an otherworldly light.

Would you look at that? Buster Kravitz muttered, abandoning his sarcasm for once as he craned his neck towards the source. His eyes narrowed, not quite believing the sight before him. Beside him, Catalina Ramirez paused mid-laugh, her smile fading into a mask of curiosity.

Zeke's been at it again, she remarked, wiping her hands on her apron which had seen better days.

The residents, drawn out of their homes by the bizarre spectacle, gathered in a loose assembly, their faces illuminated by the ethereal glow. Even Trent, who rarely showed interest in anything beyond his vape clouds, sauntered over, his eyes wide with astonishment.

Whoa, dude, he murmured, the vapor trailing from his mouth dissipating into the charged air.

Mrs. Dillard, you seeing this? Buster called out, noticing the elderly woman who had just moments ago been tenderly adjusting the shawl on Mrs. Henderson's shoulders.

Seen many things, never nothing like this, she replied, her voice unusually soft.

The light intensified, and a low hum began to resonate, vibrating through the soles of their shoes and up their spines. Zeke's trailer seemed to be the epicenter of whatever was unfolding, the windows now blazing like portals to another dimension.

Zeke, what in tarnation have you done now? someone yelled, half in exasperation, half in awe.

Before anyone could further speculate, the world turned blindingly white. A flash of light, so overpowering it felt as if they'd stared directly into the heart of the sun, engulfed the entire trailer park. The residents shielded their eyes, cries of surprise and fear mingling with the sound of bending metal and crackling energy.

The ground beneath them trembled and shifted, as if reality itself were being torn asunder. A kaleidoscopic vortex spiraled into existence where Zeke's trailer once stood, its swirling colors mesmerizing and disorienting. One by one, the residents stumbled, their feet no longer finding solid earth as they fell forward into the maw of the vortex.

Buster reached for Catalina's hand, their fingers intertwining by instinct more than intention. Mrs. Dillard clutched her shawl to her chest, her usual stern expression replaced by wide-eyed shock. Trent dropped his vape, watching it spiral away into the multicolored abyss as they all descended into the unknown, their fates momentarily entwined by Zeke's cosmic miscalculation.

Tumbling end over end through the vortex, Buster's grip on Catalina tightened. Their world had become a blur of swirling colors and echoes of their own shouts, each tone bending as if reality itself were a vinyl record warped by some cosmic heat. The vertigo was relentless, pulling at them from every direction.

Is this what being in a washing machine feels like? Buster yelled over the roar, trying to mask his panic with humor as he did with most things in life.

Focus on not hurling, Kravitz! Catalina shot back, her voice laced with a mix of terror and adrenaline that somehow still managed to carry the undercurrent of her unyielding spirit.

Mrs. Dillard, clutching her shawl like a lifeline, sailed past them, her mouth agape in a silent scream. Trent, meanwhile, flailed wildly, reaching for his lost vape as though it might save him. But there was no ground to stand on, no air free of vibrant, twisting light to catch one's breath—only the endless fall through an ever-shifting tapestry of impossibilities.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the spinning world slammed to a halt.

Buster and Catalina hit solid ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of them. Groans and gasps filled the air as the residents of the trailer park collided with the earth—or was it even earth?—of this new realm.

Everyone okay? Buster wheezed, pushing himself up to take in their surroundings.

Define 'okay,' Trent mumbled, sitting up amidst a pile of what looked suspiciously like purple grass.

The disorientation gave way to awe as they all began to absorb the staggering reality of Azuria. Mountains stretched into the sky, their peaks glowing with an ethereal light. Forests shimmered with leaves of silver and gold, swaying in a breeze that carried the scent of something sweet and wholly unfamiliar. And above them floated cities, defying gravity on islands of rock adorned with crystal spires and cascading waterfalls that evaporated into clouds below.

Are we dead? Mrs. Dillard asked, her voice small in the face of such wonder. Is this heaven or some psychedelic purgatory?

Dead people don't feel bruises, Catalina groaned, rubbing her side. This is real... somehow.

Or we're all having the same insane dream, Buster added, still trying to reconcile the view before him with any kind of logic.

Look at this place... Trent murmured, his slacker facade momentarily forgotten. He'd always dreamed of escaping the confines of the trailer park, but this? This was beyond even his wildest vape-induced daydreams.

Zeke, Buster muttered under his breath, half-curse, half-thanks. Whatever Zeke had done, it had catapulted them into a place so far removed from the mundanity of their previous lives that it felt like the start of something entirely new.

For a moment, they just sat there, a ragtag group of trailer park denizens thrown into a realm of magic and mystery, their hearts pounding with fear and fascination. Azuria was nothing like home, and yet, here they were—bewildered, bruised, but together.

Buster scrambled to his feet, dusting off the multicolored foliage that clung stubbornly to his jeans. Around him, the group was regaining composure, still gaping at the ethereal landscape. Before any of them could utter another word, a rustling in the trees drew their attention. From the celestial forest emerged a troupe of Azurian denizens, draped in robes that shimmered like the surface of a bubble.

Behold! The foretold saviors from beyond have arrived! one of the Azurians, a willowy creature with eyes like polished moonstones, declared, sweeping an arm toward the group. Their voices were a chorus of tinkling bells, resonating strangely with excitement and reverence.

Foretold what now? Buster muttered, exchanging a bewildered glance with Catalina, whose eyebrows had climbed to new heights.

Ah, yes, another Azurian chimed in, the prophecy speaks of otherworldly heroes who fall from the sky to save Azuria from despair!

Wrong sky, buddy, Trent said, taking a nonchalant drag from his vape pen, the cloud of scented vapor momentarily enveloping his head like a halo.

Otherworldly heroes? Looks more like a yard sale at the loony bin, Buster retorted with a half-smile, but the Azurians seemed undeterred by the sarcasm. Instead, they surrounded the trailer park residents, ushering them forward with gentle hands.

Lead us, O Chosen One, the first Azurian directed at Buster.

Whoa, hold up, Buster raised his hands defensively, I'm no hero, pal—I can barely lead myself out of bed in the morning.

Yet it is you who must guide, insisted the Azurian, unfazed. Your destiny awaits!

Fine, fine, Buster relented with a sigh, figuring resistance was futile. But if we run into trouble, I'm blaming each and every one of you sparkly robe-wearers.

As if on cue, a series of growls cut through the air, halting their procession. A pack of glimmerbeasts, all fangs and iridescent scales, slinked into view, saliva dripping from their maws.

Great, groaned Catalina, her hands instinctively balling into fists. What's the plan, fearless leader?

Uh... Buster stalled, brain scrambling for a solution.

Guys, watch this, Trent called out, stepping forward. He took a deep inhale from his vape pen, then exhaled an immense cloud of vapor, engulfing the glimmerbeasts. The creatures paused, sniffing curiously at the fruity mist, their predatory focus dissolving into confusion.

Wait, are they... playing? Mrs. Dillard asked incredulously as the beasts began to frolic in the vapor, rolling over each other like oversized, shiny puppies.

Seems like it, Buster said, grinning at the absurdity. Good thinking, Trent. Who knew your mango passion fruit cloud concoction would be beast tamer juice?

Beast tamer juice, Trent repeated with a proud nod, as if he'd just invented a new product line.

Let's move while they're distracted by the tropical storm here, Buster suggested, leading the group away from the playful scene. The Azurians followed eagerly, whispering among themselves about the clever tactics of their chosen heroes.

Remember when the most exciting part of our day was finding an extra fry at the bottom of the bag? Catalina whispered to Buster, shaking her head in disbelief.

Welcome to Azuria, Buster replied with a wink, where the fries fight back and the vape saves the day.

Buster Kravitz leaned back on the creaky steps of his trailer, elbows propped on the faded wood, fingers laced behind a mop of unruly hair that had seen better days. Beside him, Catalina Ramirez sat perched like a colorful bird ready to take flight, her eyes alight with the spark of unspoken dreams.

Imagine it, Cat, Buster said, his voice tinged with a longing that stretched beyond the confines of their aluminum and vinyl kingdom. A life filled with... with pizzazz! You know, something grander than this. He gestured to the collection of trailers huddled together like a congregation of mismatched socks.

Grander how? Catalina nudged him with an elbow, her curiosity shining through despite knowing full well the familiar tune of his discontent.

Anything! Buster spread his arms wide as if to embrace the entirety of his imaginings. Chasing tornadoes in some far-off land, searching for lost cities dripping with gold, or even just... not knowing what's around the next corner. His hands fell to his knees with a thump, the dreamer's glaze in his eyes giving way to the stark reality reflected in metallic siding and small patchworks of grass straining to survive.

Sounds risky, Catalina countered, though the twinkle in her eye betrayed a shared ache for adventure.

Risky? Sure, Buster admitted, scratching at the stubble on his chin—a physical manifestation of his restlessness. But isn't life about taking chances? About embracing the unexpected?

Is it? She tilted her head, feigning a practicality which barely concealed the whimsy underneath.

Absolutely! he asserted, springing to his feet now, animated by the thought of liberation from the everyday patterns they tread. The same old routine, day in, day out—it's like being trapped in a never-ending cycle of predictability. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Buster mimed the motions, his movements bordering on comical as he shuffled in a tight circle before stopping abruptly, facing Catalina with earnest intensity. I want more, Cat. So much more.

The air hummed between them, charged with the force of Buster's fervor and the silent acknowledgment of shared yearnings etched into the early evening sky.

Catalina leaned back against the sun-warmed metal of Buster's trailer, a sigh escaping her lips—a mix of exhaustion