The Chronicle of the Great Ones
Original Young Adult Fiction
Written by The Funk Mistress
Part One
He sat in his room rocking in front of the computer. Typing. Gibberish. Speaking to himself.
He knew his people were in ruin. No more. Soon.
The meccas would again be sacred and full of life. The light would soon shine on the gatherings of the Great Ones.
He mumbled to himself, “Moshi, roboto no sensou hajimattara, anata wa tatakaimasuka?” His hair hung in his eyes.
Soon.
Soon DJ Hadoken would return.
___
He sat in his room, much as DJ Hadoken did. But his hair wasn’t scraggly.
He too was on the internet.
He was alone in his apartment. He listened to music. Eurobeat. J-Pop. The sounds of Initial-D. Music from assorted video games.
His birthday loomed in the distance like a great cloud. He thought, “The Funk Mistress just used a crappy cliché in this story and I see no end in sight.”
Soon.
Soon DJ Wang would return.
___
He sat in Barnes & Noble. Rather, he stood. His hair was getting long.
When had he cut it last? Afro-Dog’s twin, Afro-Raccoon.
He was wearing a tie. Why was he wearing a tie? Real men don’t wear ties. Have you ever seen a pirate or a construction worker wear a tie? No. I rest my case. Ties are nooses that come in pretty colors.
Stupid Goth Lamesters in the Wicca section. Dastardly deed, Goth Lamesters, dastardly deed!
Sometimes he makes his knuckles bleed. It’s his super power.
Ah, Celica, take me away.
At night he dreams of leaving and telling no one where he would go. He would take nothing but his weiner and a sword. Because that’s all a real man needs.
Soon.
Soon DJ Benvenuto the Raccoon would return.
___
He lies in his bed. He may have once been a man, but now he is merely a troll.
A troll.
Trolls are lonely and like to try to do dirty deeds with princesses. But the princesses run too fast and usually get away.
He cries himself to sleep because he has no time machine.
Cup check! Cup check? No, no cup checks now. No, not now.
Lonely, are you?
We all are. But soon.
Soon DJ Fuji the Man Scout would return.
___
Who knows where he is?
He’s been M.I.A. for a while now.
Maybe he’s telling people about the Chainsaw King. The Chainsaw King? The Chainsaw King!
Maybe he’s exacerbating. Or dirty deeding? Who knows?
Maybe he’s going to put his wang in your ear?
Somewhere in the depths of his mind he hears the words faintly whispered, “shlug hug...” But he knows not anymore what it means.
Soon.
Soon DJ Skittles would return.
___
She rests in her chair at the computer. She taps at the keys and weaves a tale.
She doesn’t know where the idea came from or what it’s about.
She lets the story tell itself.
It tells of pizza grenades. It whispers of a ninja. A savage one, perhaps?
The name Kero nags at the back of her mind.
And why did she want to fill hot dogs with whipped cream and throw them at things?
Soon.
Soon The Funk Mistress* would return.
___
They’ve forgotten who they are.
Who they were. But soon.
Soon the Great Ones would awaken.
Soon they would remember.
Soon, The Ancients would smile upon them again.
*Yes, I know The Funk Mistress isn’t a RIA DJ.
But screw you. It’s artistic license.
When you write the story you can make yourself matter too.
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