Lost Time Incident

A man receives mail at his house for someone he doesn't know for six months. He doesn't open any. Then it stops.

A man is pursued through the city by doctors. They catch him and take him to surgery. Turns out he's a doctor too.

A woman thinks she's the last person on Earth. Walks around. Finds a few other people and resents their presence.

Guy journeys to an alt. dimension. Everything's the same, but no Bowie. Too bad, he kinda liked Ziggy Stardust.

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Setting: A Mailboxes Etc. outlet. On the wall, displays of cardboard boxes and envelopes for sale. In the front windows, collectible dolls with curly blonde hair and glass eyes.

A bald fifty year old man behind the counter reads a magazine. The bell above the door rings and a younger man of about twenty years of age enters, holding a letter sized envelope.

Older Man: Good day, young man. Need a stamp for your letter there.

Younger Man: No. I'm hand-delivering it.

OM: It's only thirty-seven cents to mail it. Three eight-five to send it Priority, get it there three to five days.. Can get it overnight anywhere in the U.S. for about fifteen dollars,

YM: It's for you. It doesn't need to be delivered.

The old man takes the letter, opens it, reads.

OM: A challenge letter. Haven't seen one of these in ages.

YM: I was told that around here, you're the best. I want to test myself against your style.

OM (scratching chin): I don't do a lot of that anymore.

YM: Got scared?

OM: Got bored. Got tired of winning all the time.

YM: Times change. Come out from behind that counter. Let's go.

OM: You've heard of the Annual Hands and Feet of Iron and Fire Tournament? Best martial artists from all around the world gather up to beat heck out of each other? Different place each year?

YM: Yup.

OM: The last year I went, there was this kickboxing fella from Thailand. Nicest kid you ever met outside the ring. I watched him fight the guy who was the champion the year before and it was quite a sight. At the end of the fight, the Thai kid comes flying across, an airborne cluster of knees and elbows, caves in the guys chest. Right along the sternum line.

YM: No kidding.

OM: Yup. Damndest thing I'd ever seen. Killed him of course. On his back, he looked like a split-top loaf of bread. Looked like a man-sized hot dog bun, just the right size for an ogre to drop a giant sausage in the middle of and gobble it all down. No ogres competing that year, though. So they just buried him secretly, like they usually do.

YM: Seriously, get out from behind that counter.

OM: The Thai kid got taken out by a Japanese guy who knew judo like nobody's business. Yup. Flipped the kid about twenty times in ten minutes. The kid barely had time to get up off the floor before he was upside down again, traveling back down.

The older man folds up the challenge letter and puts it back in its envelope.

OM: Final bout that year ended up being between me and the Japanese fella. I was feeling fueled by my traditional pre-fight meal of lucky bird's nest soup with a chaser shot of shark's fin soup. I spent about ten minutes doing the usual showy kicks, lightning punches, summoning of chi power until my hair stood on end and sparks rained from my fingertips. Didn't impress this guy. But you do that for the judges, really.

YM: Show-off bullshit.

OM: It is, it is. He didn't do any of that. Just stayed seated, waiting for me. So when I finally rushed him... it was something.

YM: What happened?

OM: You know what? You really had to have been there. I could give you a catalog of move and counter-move, but the story wouldn't really have even an eighth of the impact of having seen it. Among the injuries suffered were these: I managed to burn the hair off his left leg with a chi-powered burning Shivering Palm. He broke three fingers on my left hand. I stuck a wet finger in his right ear, distracting him long enough for me to deafen his left ear with a Thunder Clap Punch. He countered a Thousand Horses Kick with a deflection that to this day left me unable to enjoy a single incidence of urination without throbbing pain.

YM: But you beat him somehow, or you wouldn't be here. Or you wouldn't still be called "the best," despite the fact that you spend all day putting mailing labels on stuff. Verifying addresses and swiping credit cards.

OM: It was at that point that I used the ultimate technique, passed down to me from my master. With speed like a king cobra on reptilian amphetimines who has found out that his mate has been cheating on him and that a mongoose had eaten his eggs, I struck. I attacked him with my patented pressure point system I. I shouted out "Do dai hee nai go nye doo HAAA!" With each syllable, I stabbed a different point on his chest in sequence with my unyielding index finger.

YM: "Do dai" what?

OM: He had a similar reaction. He spoke a bit of English, so while he casually brushed at the front of his shirt, he asked "Is that supposed to be Japanese? Or Chinese? That means nothing!"

"In fact," I told him, folding my arms in triumph, "it is my own personal love language with God. I was speaking to him in tongues, in a pure language that I use to adore him. It is a tongue in which I have never lied or sinned. It is pure and YOUR ASS IS KICKED."

And at that moment, a giant flaming sword came out of the sky, held somewhere up above the troposphere by the hand of an angel. It split the entire place in two. Dozens were killed and many more had to be dug out of the rubble. Scorched off all my hair, too. I don't recommend standing that close to a quarter mile high flaming sword. If you can help it.

Anyway. That's why I am bald to this day.

The younger man stands there, eyes narrowed. The older man pushes the challenge letter back across the counter.

OM: Sure you don't need any stamps or anything?

YM: I don't need any stamps..

OM: All right then. Sorry I can't help you.

YM: That Japanese man was my father. Now fight me.

OM: Really?

YM: Are you gonna fight me?

OM: No.

YM: No. Not really. I'm not Japanese.

OM: Go home, kid. Get right with God.

YM: Or he'll cut me in half.

OM: At the very least. Go. Enjoy your health and your hair.

The younger man sticks his challenge letter in his pocket.

YM: I'm just going to go ahead and tell my buddies I won.

OM: Okay.

YM: Because I would have.

OM: Okay.

YM: You're a terrible liar.

OM: Kid. If you're going to lie about the fight, you might want to at least split your lip on the way home. Look a bit disheveled.

YM: That's all right. My buddies are online. I'll just be writing them to let them know.

OM: Okay. Have a good one, then.

YM: Thanks.

The door closes behind the younger kid. The older man runs his hand over his bald head. He goes back to reading his magazine. He imagines he can hear, somewhere above the clouds, the sound of a hand releasing its hold in a giant, flaming sword.

"Some of the aliens... well, keep in mind that while they've become fluent in English, they still have a tendency to translate some of their own idioms literally. So just... give them the benefit of the doubt."

--

The alien turned towards him, tapping the table with its flipper in approval. "Very good, Terrence. I have a great fondness for you. You are made of nothing but nutrients."

Terrance's earpiece buzzed: "Uh, Terrence, if I could just clarify... you know the saying 'you're made out of awesome'? Or you might say to a child 'I love you so much, I could just eat you up.' That's where the comment is coming from."

"Got it." Terrence still found his eyes drawn to the rows upon rows of sharp teeth that the alien's lips weren't designed to cover. He reminded himself again that the display of teeth was not a smile, was not a sign of aggression... they just always showed their teeth just like he always showed the hair on his head. But it was hard when every time you helped them, they said they wanted to eat you.

There's an alien species that finds human voices incredibly erotic. They can't control themselves. The first astronauts to speak to them in greeting and open diplomatic channels got spattered in a sticky fluid that contains the young of the species. Couldn't clean up without murdering the young and causing an incident. Sticky for months until hatching.

Aliens say the humans should just keep their mouths shut. They bring it on themselves.

Astronauts on outpost in deadly fear of stubbing a toe and cursing. NASA teaches electronics, in-flight protocols, and now sign language to all outgoing explorers. Disposable telephonic gizmos are built and left on the alien planet, used to communicate for the brief window before the gizmo's location becomes a de facto nursery.

Loneliest vampire hunter lives up in Barrow, Alaska. Figures that a vampire is bound to show up there. "They watch movies too, you know," he says. "At least one of those dumb bastards is gonna watch Thirty Days of Night and think it's a good idea. They ain't all geniuses." Says that there's too much competition in Transylvania, New Orleans is crowded, Paris is too expensive. In Barrow, the government subsidizes your living. Plenty of time to read, send correspondence, and wait for the sunless winter. And the first really dumb vampire to wander north.