I wrote this piece after having a pretty wild dream. Everything within this little slash of story came directly from imagery that I saw in that instance.

It was a comic book shop that changed Jed's life. It was open late on thursdays, till nine at night, and Jed was able to make it there after working late. It was in the parking lot of the shop, after he bought his comics, that his entire world expanded. That's when Jed met the Twin Wolves; when he stared into the twinned eyes and saw The Universe.

Then the Green Beard tried to chase him down, and eat his heart.

Jed loved to read a comic called "Whosit?". It was an independently written and drawn comic by a local artist that he admired. Jed aspired to be just like that artist; to write his own comic, and draw it. The comic was not good, and Jed's amibitions were not set very high. He was leafing through the latest issue while walking through that darkened parking lot. His mind was embroiled in the pathetically rendered action in the comic book. Until he heard a delicate voice, that pulled him out of the pages.

She was standing next to the back wall of a Chinese restaurant. She was talking on a cellphone... no, a seashell. Jed squinted in the darkness, trying to figure out if his mind was playing tricks on him. It was a small shell, held close to her cheek, and she spoke as if someone was standing next to her. Jed was close, but couldn't make out the words. The voice was melodic; beautiful. Jed slowed his walk so he could listen a bit longer, even if he couldn't understand.

Once he'd turned the corner, he shook off the strange feeling that came from listening to her, and picked up the pace towards home. Until he heard her scream.

If you sat him down today, and took the patient, caring time to get to know Jed, and once you had that rapport, asked him why he went back, he wouldn't be able to answer. His ambition with comics reflected his ambition in life; not too damn much. The comics he read were along the lines of hipster thought games, and coffee shop doucher-dialogue. There wasn't a lot of spandex and flexing. His entire personality was geared towards a weak-willed lifestyle, that would end in obscurity. And somehow, in spite of this, he went back.

The girl was pressed up against the wall of the restaurant, the small sea-shell was cradled against her breasts. As he approached, Jed cleared the building, and screamed a little himself. Two wolves were bent low, hackles raised, teeth barred at her. One was snowy white, with silver eyes, and the other was through and through black as midnight. Jed shouted, and swung his bag at the wolves. They didn't seem too concerned. He kept the bag moving, occasionally waving it at them, waiting to see if they would attack.

    "You should turn around and go home, asshole" said the Black Wolf.

Jed tried to absorb this, and didn't quite make it. Both wolves looked at him much like a workman noticing animal shit on the heel of his boot. Jed kept the bag moving, even though his entire body was being suffused with a feeling of dread. Mortal Dread. Jed didn't know what the hell was happening in this dark alley, but his life, his soul, was in danger. As he waved his bag at them, the two wolves began to merge together. Their bodies coalesced, forming an even larger wolf, with burning eyes. Jed's bag stopped waving around. Staring into the burning eyes, Jed realized completely, and for the first time, is place in the universal scheme. It was not a place of any significance. Jed looked into eternity, the startling breadth of existence. In a dirty alley, that stank of grease and birdshit, Jed Marlowe saw the face of God.

And God was pissed off.

The burning eyes twitched over to where Jed had been heading home, and the large wolf form faded back into the night, melting away.
    "That's right" said Jed, "You... know who you're dealing with."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jed turned to look at the mouth of the alley as well, and discovered the Green Man was there, looking at him. Ordinary looking, but with a green beard, and eyes. He looked bored, but there was a hint of something else. Hunger.

The fear that Jed had been experiencing magnified. It became ten thousand lifetimes of fear, squeezed into a thimble, and jammed up his nose. His heart jack hammered in his chest, and all the hair on his body became a lightning rod. Before he could think it, before he even knew that he should have been thinking it, Jed was running. Full sprint across the street. A glance over the shoulder revealed the Green Man was close behind, running with a strange, smooth gait, not even breathing heavy.

Dreams are great for story fodder, but they can't often be dictated to the page and come up aces. My dream was interesting, with powerful imagery that I vividly recall frightening me, but I had to insert some of my own spine work. I had to lend a narrative to this stuff. Still, great fodder, if you can wrestle it into something that makes any sense at all.

Here's the first part of the short story entitled "Hickory". The basis of the story is, what if the guy that cut you off in traffic, or took the last slice of pizza at the mall, or any annoying thing really, was one person? What if the universe had created a single ego to do all those things, to carry out the dirty work of Fate. That was Hickory.

The pedestrian indicator has come to the end of its cycle, and You know that the green light is only a moment away. The needle of your tachometer streaks into dangerous territory, and the part of Your brain that recalls every action movie moment receives a massive hit of current as You prepare to enter light speed. It flips from red to green, and You liquefy your tires.

And then he steps into the street.

You hit the brakes so hard your bum knee, that you threw out playing Squash earlier in the week, makes a snapping sound like forty breaking elastic bands. Your fingers are dug into the steering wheel so tight, the steering column creaks, and You nearly hit your head on the glass. After a moment of panic has subsided, You realize the other cars are screeching to a halt, honking and shouting can be heard.

Crossing the street is a dirty homeless man. You don't know for sure that he's homeless, but he bears all the trappings of a homeless man. He scowls at You, and then staggers across the intersection. You're so angry that you feel the need to say something, but you're also hopelessly inclined to streak through the light before You're forced to wait any longer. Why not do both?

Shit. You're a business man; you sell more pork bellies and fuck more hot women while fielding phone calls from Singapore, than some homeless Jerkoff could possibly imagine. You can do anything. Your finger mashes the window control, and deftly the tinted sheet of glass separating You from the world disappears. You can smell your own tires burning as you begin to pass through the intersection. As you shout at him, he turns to look at the source of the abuse. While invective flies off your tongue, You get an odd chill.

The boozy, distant glaze over his eyes lifts, and his hunched back straightens out quickly. A predatory light stares out of two burning blue eyes, and then suddenly, one of them winks.

Unnerved, You turn away, dismissing the homeless wretch, and sliding the partition between You and him back up. That's when you notice that your generous use of the gas pedal has taken you slightly off-course. Your tail drifted to the left, and aimed you not towards the opposite end of the intersection, but in fact toward the corner of a large building. A moment of time is given to You, to think about this development, but like all moments, it is fleeting. Your moment is interrupted from the cleaving of your hood by a well aged chunk of sandstone.

A slow motion study of these events would be fascinating. The hood of the car separates like the bow wave of a majestic yacht at full steam; metal and fibreglass breaking in concert. But that can only go so far; seven hundred pounds of engine are waiting to engage the sandstone in a contest of wills. Unfortunately, the only will that matters, is going to be read by Your lawyer. The engine block is a match for the stone, and at that moment, the rest of this fine automobile joins the crescendo. The windows explode outward like chinese fireworks; the crumple zones reach their maximum crumple factor, and then exceed all those standards by a staggering amount. In a few moments, the entire length of the sleek machine is crushed into a mock accordion.

The coroner will state that you died instantly, but that's the kind of ambiguous and half assed answer that you can expect from the Men of Science. How could any of them really know, without conducting the Final Experiment? Tinkerers, the lot of them. You are aware of the steering column smashing upward into the bottom of your jaw, and the last sound You hear is the snapping of your own neck. Ta-da. You have just met Hickory.