BIG BOI BLORPIN

Written by J.B. Heartfeld

In the great golden fields of what Earth used to be, there are too many things left to count. Floating crumbles that resemble pieces of old institutions if they were made of plastic and dreams. Warbling little bubbles that glisten like jewels as they pop and release little sounds, be they laughs or cries.

Unknowable yet endlessly friendly creatures soar through the air, decorating the skies with their colorful forms.The golden fields themselves appear more brilliant than any stage that could have come before them. Suddenly they tremble as if shaken from deep within.

Existing calmly amongst it all are two odd looking beings.

“We can’t blurn back Zzayen…can we?” resigns the first of the two. It looks like a sentient piece of orange broccoli, fitted with two arms and a floating cloud were legs could be. It wears protective, yet oddly stylish eyewear. It’s voice childish. Childish and tired.

“I don’t think so…” the other responds with its comparably childish voice. It’s smaller than its companion, less than half the size. Its frame very circular, not unlike a marble in shape and perhaps density. It appears very solid, yet not aggressively so.

Its body is as blue as an endless ocean, with eyes as wide as two full moons. The arms on this creature are unremarkable, little hand-less nubs with no perceivable use. Its legs, however, have unmistakable use.

While they are also small nubs that appear too weak to do anything, with them the creature stands boldly in the golden ethereal fields. Gently planted in that spot, it continues speaking.

“…but I don’t think that matters. Ya know what I mean? Sometimes a fvvranz has gotta fvvranzchk.”

“Hmph. I hate when you vllam like that. But when you’re right, you’re right. Maybe we--”

Before the orange one could finish that thought, the trembling from below reached a climax. Bursting from the fields with a crunching splash, sending debris and red soil in every direction, was a beast of sorts.

It's form an amalgamation of things as trivial as they are pivotal. Documents, photographs, vows, reclining chairs, checks, power lines, bills, and winding clocks.

While the orange one flinched back at the nearly incomprehensible monster before them, the little blue one didn’t waver at all.

It looked up courageously amidst the storm of debris and uttered,

“If you’re my only enemy, then life must favor me after all”

TO BE CONTINUED

As those words faded from the screen, a preview of the next episode started.

I can’t understand any of this. I don’t understand the title, the lasers that make things wiggle, the sound effects that grate my ears, and I still don’t understand what those two characters are even trying to do!

The screen is still a mess of over exaggerated facial expressions and nauseating colors…how long is this preview going on for? They’d be giving away the entire plot if I could understand any of what was going on here.

“Daddy!! Ya wanna watch the next episode wit me?!” my son hollered after noticing my presence.

Before I can say no, a memory finds its way into the forefront of my mind.

The sky a plain baby blue. Every cloud a simple white squiggle to serve as decoration.

Underneath that sky, three boys lounging inside of a giant makeshift bowl filled with milk and tennis balls.

A fourth boy watching from atop a closed fence, slowly falling for their scheme to prey on his innocent desire for his life to go back to how it once was.

Even that random episode is something that I can recall in full.

I would put everything on hold to watch just eleven minutes of that fictional world. All of its absurdity tickled me like nothing else could, or perhaps ever has. I smiled while my eyes lapped up every pixel of my favorite show.

How many times did I look at my father with wide excited eyes like my son now has?

How many times was I disappointed by his response to my earnest inquiry?

Too many times.

Far too many times.

This memory is all it takes. The smallest push to go over the edge back into innocent sincerity.

So I sit next to my son with an empathetic smile, and I try to enjoy the thing that he loves. I do it for him, not for me. 

It turns out that it’s just one of those things that takes time to love.

Artwork by Hannah Adams