A Book of Books

[Philip K Dick]

by Armon Pakdel

Chapter?

It was but a faint, delicate whisper. It was the soft, gentle hum of an explosion rocking the ground, sending shards of wood and glass flying through the air. A dim and subtle light emanated and glowed faintly as the explosion tore the house to bits. When all was through, all that remained was the entire house. Intact. Because, no explosion had happened that day, March 15th, 1991. Not a single explosion had occured. Anywhere. Ever. Never had any explosion ever happened. Explosions didn't exist. Just like metabolism, and jackalopes. They were a myth. A hoax. A scandal. A will-o-the-wisp.
"My my, Mr. Bigs. Are you feeling like dandy liquor?" said Smalls.
"My name isn't Mr. Bigs." said Bigs.
As they stood there, jostling about on a platform adjacent to the train tracks, Bigs could only wonder. How could his house explode if explosions didn't exist? The train soon didn't arrive, and Bigs and Smalls hopped into the driver's seat.
"Never been back here before." said Bigs, quite obviously not back but up.
The train was a marvelous feat indeed. In ran on steam which was invented in 1883 by a man named Henry Bronco. Bronco was a devilish fellow, he liked to play pool on weekends. But that wasn't his main hobby. Every Wednesday evening, Bronco would go to the fritz to try his luck. Of course, his luck soon ran short. A man named Wesley Turkins made sure of that.
As Henry Bronco approached the park bench, he wondered how the deal would go down. If things went well, he and his wife, Nancy, were in for a glass of potatoes. If not... well there was only guessing.
Turkins was nonchalantly sitting on the bench, apparently waiting for something.  Bronco sat down beside him and touched his shoulder.
"Its a shame really." murmured Bronco.
"Quite a shame indeed. A hoax if I ever saw one." stuttered Turkins. And with that he was off. Then he exploded. It was very very quiet when he did. It was almost unnoticable. The brass section began its sad bouquet. And amongst its ranks lay the quiet engineer, Juliet Farginsteen.
In the vibrant days that followed the death of Henry Farginsteen, the father of Juliet's third son, there was left a gap so wide that Juliet herself didn't quite know how to react. If anything, there was something of an abyss in her years. Picking out the roots wasn't an easy task.
She began with the old man by the sea, steadily working her way up as she gained knowledge of their ways and then some. It wasn't long before Juliet had achieved what some call woodwind mastery. Oh yes, the pipeflute glistened with respect as the days grew awkward with haste.
That's when Juliet ran into someone she never expected to see again.
"Henry?" she gaped as she stepped back into the large piled of stringed instruments.
"Yes?" replied the meager washed-up grayhair, whose lips shone a radiant blue.
An explosion subtly washed away everything. All the instruments were gone in a flash.
Rocking back and forth between a raisin or two, Terrance "Two-Time" Matthews was on the case. But where to start? Was it only a matter of empty backwashing that lead him to where he was now? Or later? Whatever the answer, he was sure to find more in the lair.
Cautiously entering the cavernous expanse, Two-Time burst through the double door at an alarming rate.
"Obviously, it was a trap." he muttered.
As he continued along the path, Two-Time saw an ominous shadow approaching. It was the slap-flamenco strung-out master of masters. He didn't know quite was to do, so he exploded. Incredibly quietly. The mystery would be left unsolved for now.

[trent bortknob]

lmfao

explosions dont exist just like metabolisms

[naruto102]

There is no such thing as light

[Philip K Dick]

the bump

[vinexist]

Exploded quietly...