by M. K. Noble
Crumbs dusted the white enamel, clinging, until a spray of water took them. As the specks of cake began their journey, she wondered how long it had been since she left the house. McKenna never went outside. She didn’t bother. She gave the box a tap and a shake. It was three years ago. It had been Lindsey’s twenty-fourth birthday. There was pizza, cake and then, the Gamezworld friend request.
Reminiscing, she sang as she folded, “So young, you’d just begun . . .” Three years since she began her affair with
Kevin of Seven, who lived in a place near Chicago. “Or where Chicago would be if the Windy City existed in the Seventh Dimension.” He teased, “It’s windy here too, lol.”
Lindsey had joked about how lame this “Kevin guy” was. It’s too bad some people don’t like other people to be happy.
What did he look like? No picture, only an ET avatar. “He does sound cute,” Lindsey finally admitted, “but why won’t he say where he’s from? Doesn’t that bother you?”
No. McKenna wasn’t bothered. Unlike former friend Lindsey, McKenna still isn’t bothered. There were weeks of chats, discussing games and favorite characters, and colors. It was simple. McKenna and Kevin were in love.
She had promoted Linds as a Gamezworlders player for the Seven D. She wouldn’t just ditch Linds. There was no invite for Lindsey. McKenna had felt guilty but thrilled. The thought still thrilled her. Sadly, Lindsey’s negativity persisted.
“McKen, I don’t like this; he’s not telling you enough. Why won’t he at least say where he’s from?”
“He does, Linds; you don’t believe him, but I do. That’s the difference.”
“The Seventh Dimension, McKen?” Lindsey tried to turn McKenna against him. “He says he lives in the Seventh Dimension, McKen? C’mon.”
“That’s why he turned you down.” McKenna had to be blunt so that Lindsey would know the score. “Lindsey, I told Kevin you didn’t believe him. Uh, so, I’m a player in the Seventh D World Game. Sorry Linds, but you weren’t invited.”
Lindsey didn’t give up. “Why can’t I find Seven D anywhere, McKenna? Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”
“Okay so, Seventh D World Games isn’t found on search engines, Linds. That’s because SDWG is super exclusive and private.”
When it became clear she had to choose, McKenna blocked Lindsey’s emails and avoided her calls. Despite her resolve, McKenna was sad. She and Lindsey had been friends since the third grade.
Kevin had sympathized, saying it was for the best since Lindsey took time away from games and time away from folding. Folding is important.
McKenna folded the cupcake box, making it a five-fold. The ends must meet exactly. Pressing . . . pressing . . . be patient. Crease the cardboard, then fold exactly, press, crease . . . She hummed a kindergarten song, “The People on the Bus.” Creasing and pressing, “All through the town,” she sang. “You’re not a box any more; you’re décor.“
Décor was a sophisticated word. McKenna was cosmopolitan. “Cosmopolitan” was Kevin’s favorite compliment.
She added the five-fold to the pink tower on the window side in the living room. Stepping back, she smiled. The bakery pink transformed the wall. The wall was incredibly awesome. Pink was definitely better than margarine yellow. There was not enough room to view the full effect. The hall ended in egg cartons, useful in mapping dimensions.
The halls where McKenna walked in 1997 were lined with homecoming banners, dance notices and one with a black marker smeared on an Animal Farm poster, starring “McKenna the pig as Napoleon’s wifey.”
Her late mother’s bedroom walls hosted layers of TV Guides and Enquirers. Kevin had remarked on their value in making intra-space assessments. He appreciated her ingenuity.
Stairs were becoming a problem. The extra pounds she guessed, pounds added to the three hundred fifteen that had been her weight on the last doctor visit. The entry to her bedroom office had become an arch of tri-fold cellophane.
Be careful. Remember the roach attack on the Styrofoam. She had created a wall of Styrofoam behind her bed. The boxes resembled oysters, common in a mermaid’s environment.
Kevin had been pleased and she was proud of her ingenuity. He has gone on about the wall being useful in plotting a bridge map. Then the roach invasion had ruined it all. Remembering the roaches, she winced and berated herself again. You better not pout; you better watch out. Worms march in, they march out; worms play pinochle on your snout. Be careful.
Attracted by wafts of ravioli and fries, they had streamed through the boxes, gathering an army before dropping to the floor and traversing the worn carpet to her desk, where they scaled the oak frame like a mountain.
A message from Kevin had come through while she was screaming. Crunching them under her feet, she swept away handfuls of twitching insects, scooping and flinging them to the floor. Fighting the urge to run, she had answered.
“Just eat them,” he said. “Catch them as they run. Pop them in your mouth and enjoy a snack. LOL!” Kevin had laughed at her. “No,” she had sobbed, “roaches are gross.”
Minutes of silence became an eternity of loss. Waiting to be forgiven, she had stood, staring at Mac as she flicked roaches from her hair and brushed them off her sweats. At last, the seven hearts had popped up; he was back. Anything, she had promised herself then. I’ll do anything, oh please.
Discard the box shells, he had said. Her tears had softened him. She could tell he cared because he sent the seven hearts. “Oh Kevin, so many . . .” Remorse still threatened to overwhelm her.
The insects had paused before swarming her desk. They knew that they had gone too far. They should have fled then, scurried into the peeling walls, back to their twitching families hidden in dark chambers. They would have been safe.
“Go work on the pink wall and don’t come back for an hour.” The roaches were gone when she returned. Erased was a better description. All that was left were smears.
What happened? The Seven D had remapped her office, Kevin explained. She told herself it doesn’t matter because a message had appeared with a link to Seventh Neighborhood. She had clicked “About” and “FAQ,” but there were few facts available. “Residents” would collaborate on “custom” environments. Invitations were based on personality and data.
She had im’d Kevin, “What do you mean by ‘custom?’ Is there a theme?” Her heart had raced with possibilities. Willow Sprite and Quiver’s Truth might share a private little corner of My Seventh Neighborhood. See Lindsey; see what you missed!
“The theme is in my universe,” he had answered. Universe? Her stomach hurt like it did when she was ten, and Mom kept her home from school. Fight or flight the doctor had said.
Silly to be worried ’cause look at what happened. She checked her email, scrolling through Willow fan mail, looking for notes from Kevin, or from Seven D gamers, the human ones. Nothing yet, but it was early. She considered logging on to Seventh Neighborhood but decided to wait. If Kevin wasn’t there, someone or something else could be.
McKenna had begun to question her sanity. “Lindsey might be right” crept into her thoughts, ready to slide under a door and into her dreams. Again, she searched for Seventh Neighborhood and Seven D World Games, but found no links, nothing to use against Lindsey’s words.
After the roaches, the world had surely changed. Something happened to make it spin. “No, revolved” was a better word, because everything had turned, Mac, her desk, her chair, everything. Her bedroom wall with the six-folds of colored plastic had rotated like Mom’s lazy Susan.
She had found herself within a game, and she was Willow Sprite, who was the reality, not a figure on a monitor, but real. Graphics from Wraith World, the Fifth World of the Seven Plains had surrounded her with paint-by-number images, rendering some elements in color, while others had the thinnest wash of tint, or no color, like an outline waiting for crayons.
“Willow,” someone whispered. Quiver’s Truth, had appeared as a cartoon at first. Then, he too, had become real and as solid as she. Taking her hand in his, he had stroked her hair, the silken tresses falling on her shoulders. “Close your eyes,” he sang.
A thousand fingers had stroked her, their touch a soft breeze of sensation, then pressing gently and then there was . . .
She folded the bakery five-folds. Groaning, she closed her eyes. The first tryst had been too brief. She had found herself back at her desk, her hand resting on her chin. Mac’s corner clock said she had been in Wraith World an hour. Staring at the monitor, she had wondered when she could return. Although it wasn’t long before she did, Lindsey’s words kept nibbling on an edge of her mind. Oh please. It would be disloyal. McKenna had refused to doubt his love.
How long since the roaches disappeared? Bank notices connected to her old life. Fees, debits and new services told her that it had been months. For months, Willow Sprite and Quiver’s Truth had lived together on Willow Island in Seventh Neighborhood.
She folded and pondered Mom’s favorite phrase, “Every cloud has a silver lining.”
She wanted more than her father with his dealership, more than her mother, who had sighed and smiled when she deposited the insurance checks, the silver lining from Daddy’s murder during a customer test drive of a Lexus minivan. Daddy’s hands and feet had been tied, trussed like he was a Thanksgiving turkey, and he’d been tucked in a drawer under the last row of seats. The van had been top of the line and Daddy’s number one seller.
Daddy was a shadow on the screened porch, a pair of black socks resting on the foot of a recliner, but mostly her father was the dealership. McKenna might have had more of his attention if she had been born with a luxury interior and chrome wheels. When Daddy died, Mom had quit her office job, married her new plasma screen, and devoted herself to American Idol.
The stroke took Mom, but banished the bathroom scale, the weight loss programs, The Price is Right mornings and the Fox News nights. Now, the two-story brick house was an island ruled by McKenna. Lindsey had wanted McKenna to take classes with her, but Lindsey wanted to be her roommate.
“You’re by yourself too much McKen,” Lindsey had argued. “You need to get out.” Lindsey never called now. It didn’t matter. McKenna will stay with Kevin and be his Lady of the Seventh Dimension. Her secret heart had searched in chat rooms and games of fantasy. She found Kevin and her true self on an island surrounded by warm oceans, an island covered in rolling mists. Willow Sprite was a water nymph. McKenna had role-played in other worlds, but when she became a mermaid, Willow Sprite, the princess warrior, she discovered her power.
Pitting one suitor against the other, she had played in the oceans and lagoons of Poseidon’s Undersea Kingdom, in The Secrets of King Arthur’s Lake and Sea Treasures of Atlantis. Soft blue hair lazily drifted and caressed her face.
Later, her lover would think of her perfect breasts, the nipples pointed and sweet cherry red. Hearts and friendships were broken. Until Quiver’s Truth, huntsman of the Seventh World, claimed her, she had played the coquette.
Shadow Siren and Journey’s Wench had called for a vote to shut Willow “Spite” out of Wraith’s World, Fifth of the Seven. Then, Quiver’s Truth put Willow under his protection, declaring her his lady. Quiver’s Truth was a hunter with straight yellow hair. He, like she, was part elf. She was now unavailable, but they still beg for her.
McKenna remembered her father’s words on making a sale. Pay attention; focus on the buyer. She was observant and considerate, careful to “like” Kevin’s Neighborhood posts.
Comments were often confusing. Kevin explained that many of the Seven Worlders were new. Many were from other areas of Seven D, farther from the Great Barrier.
If it hadn’t been disloyal, she would have messaged one of her human friend players, Riley (Mephisto Warrior) to ask him what he thought of Block Chairman Martin. Were the new smiley faces clues or part of a different game? It wasn’t important as long as the magic enveloped her.
On Willow Island, the bows of willow trees shaded a waterfall. Limestone shot with emeralds, turquoise and dark reds framed the edge of the lagoon. Not pretending anymore, she was Willow Sprite, a water nymph with silver skin that glistened in the cool sun. Peering into the water, she saw the tilted eyes of her beautiful face.
But, itching doubt still threatened to crawl from her mind’s edge. Was Willow Island created from a cloud of stardust? If it was not on Earth, was it at least part of our universe? She was afraid to know. She feared the drabness of being sane. She suspected that doubters like Mephisto Warrior, Green Prince Sorcerer and Moon Deer were invited to join Seventh Neighborhood for tests. Kevin explained, “We need to evaluate and understand how to make them come through.”
Moon Deer flirts with Kevin. McKenna knows her password and reads her secret posts.” He responded with LOL’s to Deer’s lame jokes. It’s not like the way he jokes with McKenna, not at all like what they have.
She passed under the cellophane arch and then sat at her desk. Until Kevin fulfills his promise, she will humor Moon Deer. She waited until “Welcome to the Seventh Neighborhood!” pulsated, the words shrinking and ballooning until they changed color.
Lights began to flash. Her hands were green, then deep purple. The desk became a waterfall. The bed changed to a swirl of colored stone. The bedroom walls were miles of distant forest cloaked in mist. Willow Sprite and Quiver’s Truth sighed as they tossed pebbles into the lagoon. They counted the ripples. There were always seven.
Wolves were howling in a haze of distant trees. He pressed his long body to hers and kissed her on her nose. Grinning back at her, he jumped up to chase a deer as it hurried into the foliage.
The mist faded and became a wall. The swirl of rocks melted into a bedspread. She was back.
McKenna stared at the monitor until an email from linz @ gamwhorll.net popped up. Lindsey must have a new address. “It’s Riley, McKen. They can’t find Mephisto, McKen. Oh McKenna, PLEASE BE CAREFUL!!”
There was a link to a news report. A gamer had gone missing. There were stacks of boxes, blood traces and something viscous, a slime substance they can’t identify. Why Lindsey would send this? Lindsey was losing it, obviously jealous and paranoid.
She wished she could send Kevin a rose. In one of their “private’ messages, he had confided that his world had no roses, no flowers, only the waves of “thists” that gathered at the Great Barrier. “When predators crawl near toward the Barrier, thists scream a warning,” he had explained.
She loved his stories about his nurse. During his first growth, Kevin’s nurse had warned him to be still or he would not grow enough to complete his first molt. The nurse warned that a giant krant could eat him come slaughter season. Krants hurl themselves against outer force fields, trying to crack and attach to the Barrier Wall. They were seldom a threat, Kevin assured her, because krants wither quickly, and thists kill them. The most dangerous were scrathes, tiny creatures slithering undetected by thists. McKenna perceived just a hint of fear when he confided this. His fear made her love him more.
Scrathe tentacles secrete an acid which created pockets where they cocoon themselves. Later, when the scrathes emerge, they prey upon Seven D young, who lay helpless after the Sacred Spawn. Worse, the young are often vulnerable and unprotected because adults are indifferent during the Sleep of Three. Thists too can be dangerous. During the second growth, ravenous and aching for the joy of slaughter, one must be careful.
“I travel only in the smoothest of eggs,” he had said. “Egg” was their private joke. McKenna had suggested “egg” when he searched for a word to describe the thing he used for travel, something wider and rounder on one end than the other, “It has a silver smooth surface,” he told her. “Any small imperfection, the tiniest groove or rough patch obscured by the gleam, any break in the surface, can result in destruction. Then, undetected, thists attach. They can suck you through the shell, and your hunt is over. I’ve witnessed it,” he said with a shudder. “They become flush with scarlet as they feed, and they’re beautiful as roses.”
There was someone was at the door. Careful not to disturb the décor, she looked through a window. Only a crack, she whispered as she placed her foot against the door.
“McKenna . . .“ Lindsey stumbled on her words. Former best friend’s hair was cut, something new. Soft curls framed her round face. She wore a long blue sundress with daisies on the hem.
“What is it Linds? I’m kinda busy now.” It had been a while since McKenna bathed. She tried to remember the last time she wore something new.
“Just worried about you Ken . . . maybe we could . . .“ Lindsey looked like she might cry.
“I’m just fine Linds—you are a worry wart.”
“C-c-call m-m-me.” Lindsey stuttered when she was nervous, “Okay Ken? Please?”
“Absolutely will when I get a minute. Bye Linds.” She shut the door. “Oh God,” she whimpered. Then, she took a shower and washed her hair. It will be tonight.
At ten o’clock McKenna sat and waited. The pink wall was behind her, a last minute Kevin request, and if another, one of the others in Seventh Neighborhood had asked, she would have refused.
A chirp signaled a message from a fan. Would she let him “see” or would she give him a task, and then perhaps let him see? She deleted. Green Prince Sorcerer im’d, “Seen Moon Deer? We were hookin’ up, and she doesn’t answer. I even texted, but it’s like she’s fallen off the planet.”
He jumps up to chase a deer. McKenna’s hands shook. Why am I worried? “No worries,“ she answered, “Moon Deer’s a flake.”
At ten-thirty, she despaired. No Kevin; no Seventh Neighborhood. She rose, her lips quivering. A whine blasted, loud and sharp until it became a siren. She pressed her hands to her ears. Gray light filled the room until waves of color poured in. Now? Oh Kevin my darling is it now?
Yes! She was Willow Sprite, and Quiver’s Truth was at her side. He traced her jaw. Something’s wrong. She moved to touch her lover’s hand and discovered that unless she turned it, she couldn’t see her own hand. This Willow Sprite was flat, a creature of only two dimensions. Her flat silver arm leaned against him. She was thin as paper.
He sang in her paper ear, “Fold.”
She bent as he pressed and creased. Her head bounced on her shins.
The wolves were howling. They’re not howls, they’re screams! She slid open the lids of her eyes. Am I breathing? I must be, but I don’t feel it.
Pink boxes floated above her in a gray room. Her thin heart swelled as she saw Quiver’s Truth sitting on a silver egg. Oh Kevin. He moved toward her. He wants to kiss me, she thought. There was screaming in the distance, but it was really more of a screeching sound. Fear clouded his blue eyes, changing them to dark gray. Oh Kevin, you’re afraid of the thists.
She wondered what he saw. Could he restore her third dimension? Kevin grinned and nodded. Tiny strings shot from his mouth, dancing and growing long as they attached to her. There was a gentle tug. She felt her face again! She was becoming round! She stretched her silver arms and the supple body her fans will miss. Then, Willow’s silver arms became the trembling arms of McKenna. Will he love her still?
He kissed her hand, “We’ll be as one, my lady.”
Waves of bliss flowed until her lover’s mouth widened, and his chin expanded, the chin rolls folding and draping, enclosing her arm. McKenna wanted to scream along with the thists as Kevin devoured her. “As one,” she dreamed. The gray of his massive flesh shimmered. From slits near Kevin’s snout (gills?) a thick clear fluid oozed and dripped. That’s the slime they found in the basement. Sorry Lindsey. His folds enveloped her, and they flushed with scarlet, as beautiful as any rose.
THE END
Check out M. K. Noble's blog marjoriekayesbabylondreams.com. 'Its purpose is to promote my as yet unpublished virtual reality novel, now called Past Imperfect.'
