Previously on Mark Flynn's Revenge

Quote:“Daddy…!”

“HEY. I HAVE NOT BEEN HANGING OUT WITH PETER GILMOUR, OKAY?”

Quote:"Fucking weird, Daddy."

Quote: "OH RIGHT. FOUR MILLION DOLLARS.”

"Four mil-Four MILLION dollars?!?"

Quote:I figure you’d be a good guy to give him a talking-to.”

Quote:“You just don’t give enough of a shit to give him that talking-to.”

Quote:Katie runs over to the pinned Flynn, drops down and looks him in the eyes.

"Wanna go to the movies?"

Suddenly, smoke rises up from where Flynn once was.

It slowly comes to rest on the ceiling and begins to spell out letters.

"Thursday at 7."

Quote:“Does this look good to you?”

Crack…

Sighs again.

“Yeah, it does.”

And now… the next chapter of Mark Flynn's Revenge
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Smackins' Residence, Detroit, MI- July 10th, 2014 - 6:34 PM

Glug. Glug. An Adam’s apple leaping up and down in its home, like a kid at Christmas, as a waterfall of transparent brown travels through it.

Unfortunately, were the owner of this Adam’s apple his body’s father, in this scenario, the only gifts he’d be giving would be to apparently his least favorite child, his stomach.

Least favorite because the only gift his stomach would be receiving was alcohol. Sweet, slowly-life-ending alcohol.

He gasps for air as he pulls the bottle away from his lips… And woozily… sets it on the floor next to the couch. Next to the rest of his used bottles.

Another one empty. Another 40 in his stomach. Another mistake he’d be dealing with in presumably a short period of time.

You see, this was a miscalculation on Crack’s part. He had assumed because Katie Smackins had been getting ready for her date over two hours ago, she’d be leaving soon. For her date with some fucking asshole named Flynn. Subsequently, he had starting drinking so his night wallowing in sadness could start early. He’d give Flynn the ‘don’t mess with my little girl’ talk Frodo should be giving just the slightest touch buzzed. Then wave the woman he… loved?... somethinged, Crack wasn’t really sure… out the door.

Here comes the unfortunate part: Katie had been getting ready, because she was excited about this date and wanted to make sure she had enough time to iron out all the little things about her appearance.

She wanted to look perfect, immaculate even, for this dickhead.

Which she had just explained to her dear friend, Crack, as she pawed a comb elegantly through her perfect angelic blond hair… not but 30 minutes ago.

Which had made Crack, who had already made the jump from tipsy to smashed accidentally, start to drink harder. And faster.

He was somewhere between white-girl-drunk and corpse-dead.

He sunk deeper into the couch, leaning back. Then, immediately, the rush of his life came back in full-swing. He was about to give away Katie to some dowry-giving fuckface. He needed more sweet juice…

Pressing a hand into the couch, Crack got up slowly, stumbling, then crossed the carpet, which had started to bundle and bunch under the clumsy heaviness of his footsteps. He made it to the wall, the hardest part of his journey complete, and then, pressing a hand against it for balance, palmed his way across the room, around the doorway, and into the kitchen.

To his treasure trove. His asshole friend Midge’s fridge.

Crack & Crack’s Liver - vs - Midge’s Fridge Fridge Match

He laughs out loud at the rhyme he made in his own head.

Midge’s fridge. Fridge’s midge. He imagines his short friend, hiding in the fridge. Midge in the fridge.

He laughs so hard, his hands rushes to hold in his sides… That he loses grip of the wall and falls to the floor, headfirst with a THUNK.

” Crack, you okay?” Katie calls from her room.

“Unequivocally, madam. Don’t a fret for a moment. Think of my pain as the wind to blow through your hair without your notice,” Crack tries to say.

”Cha, bae, jis gitin’ TURNT UP…” Crack actually says, mouth too numb to even form words.

He crawls from his new home in the kitchen, body sliding against the hardwood floor in the Smackins’ kitchen, to the glossy white fridge. His personal Everest.

Sweet, sweet victory resting within…

Mounting it like a rock climber, he finds his first handhold in the icemaker… And slowly pulls himself to his knees… His next spot is the handle on the door… HE SWINGS FROM THE ICE MAKER…

And latches on!!! A smile crosses his face… As he allows his body to dead weight… Slowly opening the door in the least efficient way possible… He knocks his head against the dish washer and falls limp…

Now, resting beside the sink, on the floor, the only thing between him and the open fridge was this damn refrigerator door…

He hiccups, pondering his next mov-

That moment, Katie walks into the kitchen…

”Crack, you in here?”

Katie notices, then closes the open fridge door, revealing the dead weight sack of flesh resting on the wall.

”Whoa.”

Her eyes shine like sapphires, blue, glistening… Her lips the loveliest red… She’s everything he wants…

He hiccups himself back to planet Earth, a sad drunk staring at the woman he wants…

Humiliated, Crack immediately sobers up… About 20% of the way to ‘not drunk’. Which puts him from completely fucked up to just entirely fucked up.

He tries to scoop himself off the wall as fast as he can… Which leads to his hand slipping on a pool of water left by the sink and SMACKING HIS HEAD AGAINST THE METALLIC SINK BASE!

”CRACK!”

Winner: Frodo’s Kitchen- By Knockout

Blood spurts out of his face…Crack… falls unconscious… Eyes closing…

The last thing he hears before everything goes black…

Is the ring of a doorbell…
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The Elysian Fields, Underworld, TX – Time Meaningless

Crack’s eyes open again.

This time, in a giant flowing field… Fields of six foot grass, green as can be, stalks blown back and forth… Symbolizing the balance of nature… An ever-changing, yet dependably constant ecosystem…

Crack sits up, sitting upon a flat patch of earth… A feeling of calmness and oneness with the human race overtaking him… Peace within. A choir of voices seem to sing in the distance… Tranquility…

He calls out… And finds his voice cannot overpower the wondrous silence of this field…

He would normally panic, having no voice in a strange land… But somehow, he’s trapped in the sensation that everything will be all right…

Suddenly, a white glow, a blinding white light overtakes him… Crack’s hands to his eyes, blocking the wondrous, ethereal source… And yet, he feels compelled to look through the blindness… His eyes contort, dilate and slowly adjust…

At the center of the light, is an angelic figure, twelve feet tall, slender… Dressed in a wondrous cloak of every color the eye can see…Feet hovering just above the surface, Hair radiant, smile the friendliest one could possibly imagine…

Face.

…

Frodo Smackins’.

”Hi Crack.”

Crack against tries to call out to his friend, asking where they are… And again cannot make a sound.

What is g-…

Crack’s thoughts are loud. Echoing through every corner of this world… His eyes furrow in surprise, but not fear. His lips do not move, but his mind whirs in many directions.

I can hear my own thoughts…

‘Frodo’ laughs kindly.

”Can you usually not?”

Before Crack can correct his own faux pas, the ‘Frodo’ angel speaks again.

”Crack... You must tell Katie how you feel. A life of self-destruction and doubt and will only lead you to misery. It is destined in the stars.”

Crack shakes his head slowly, difficulty, as if he was underwater…

But she doesn’t… I don’t…I want to… But she might not feel the same way…

Suddenly, the grass stops undulating back and forth and falls limp…

‘Frodo’’s cloak turns from an every-color tapestry of majesty to a pale blue. He stops hovering and instead stands on the ground beside Crack.

”All right, so the ‘Wonders of Heaven’ thing doesn’t do it for you. Let’s try this.”

The ‘Frodo’ angel’s hand’s shoot forward, grab Crack by his collar and heaves him off the ground.

”THIS IS YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS SPEAKING. GET LAID OR GET OVER IT.”

…What?

The 12-foot tall ‘Frodo’ manifestation continues to yell directly into Crack’s face.

”YOU’RE A MALE ADULT. YOU HAVE A JOB AND RESPONSIBILITIES AND WORKING GENITALIA. STOP ACTING LIKE A PUNK BITCH. IF YOU WANT THIS GIRL, ASK HER. IF SHE SAYS NO, MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE.”

‘Frodo’’s face isn’t angry, but forceful, as if trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Frustrated and focused…

Crack’s eyes squint as he tries to understand what on Earth is going on.

But… But what if…

‘Frodo’ tries again, one arm straight out, hand around Crack’s throat, holding him eight feet in the air…

His opposite hand cupping around his mouth, as if volume was the thing preventing Crack from understanding his argument.

”YOU’RE PINING LIKE A KID FROM HIGH SCHOOL AFTER A WOMAN WHO OWNS A BROTHEL SLASH STRIP CLUB. SHE AIN’T JULIET AND YOU AIN’T ROMEO. TO QUOTE THE GREAT PHILOSOPHER ANTHONY KIEDIS, ‘WHATCHU GOT, SHE GOTTA GET IT, PUT IT IN YOU.”

Crack’s face goes from deep confusion to sudden lack of faith in this hallucination existing in any reality.

I don’t think Frodo would say those things… Or has a working knowledge of lyrics from Red Hot Chili Peppers songs…

”Frodo is flying to Florida, using you as a proxy, instead of sending his daughter off to date some dowry-paying jackass IN PERSON. He and his opinions are irrelevant right now.”

The ‘Frodo’ angel begins throttling Crack… shaking him in mid-air…

”THIS IS YOU SPEAKING TO YOURSELF. INCOMING MESSAGE FROM YOUR OWN BRAIN. MAN UP.”

‘Frodo’ smacks Crack in the face with a right-handed slap… His eyes close from the blow, his vision starts to whiten on the edges…

”MAN UP.”

Crack’s starts to fade as he feels oxygen rushing into his lungs…

”MAN UP…”

”MAN…”
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Smackins' Residence, Detroit, MI- July 10th, 2014 - 6:48 PM

”…up!

”Wake up!”

Katie gently shakes Crack by the shoulders, as he lies on the couch… Eyes slowly fluttering… An incredible pain in his scalp… He squints. And sees another angel.

This one a human.

This one infinitely more beautiful to Crack.

Through one eye… His other eye covered by… something…?

She sighs with relief… Letting her back to sink into the couch comfortably next to him, letting him lying prone on the couch, legs ontop of her lap.

”I was worried for a second there. You were bleeding bad for like a while. I didn’t know what I’d do…”

Crack’s hands groggily reaches for his temple… And finds a makeshift bandage covered the gaping wound he opened with that slip in the kitchen.

That’s what covered his eye. A slow, goofy smile spreads across his face as he beams at the woman sitting so close to him…

”You saved me…”

Crack blinks twice, smile getting even bigger.

”Katie, I lo-“

”Oh, don’t thank me, I just got you to the couch. I don’t know a thing about first aid.”

”Flynn was the one who knew what to do. Thank him.”

That moment, from around the corner, comes the six-foot tall, 200 pound former XWF champion. Dressed in a black suit and tie. Sharp. Wrists wet and pinkish… Having been just recently covered in blood.

”I have a lot of experience with… damage to the skull… Just a matter of applying pressure to the wound until the body has time to close it itself…”

Flynn’s face reads as disinterested, as wipes his hands with a white bath towel, now stained a red so deep, its center is black.

”Shall we be on our way?”

”Sure.”

Katie lifts Crack’s legs off of her. Then leans in and delivers a peck on his forehead.

”Thanks for giving Flynn the talk.”

Katie winks and pats him on the shoulder.

”Don’t wait up.”

Katie scrambles across the room and takes Flynn’s arm, who, initially puzzled, takes hers and links them together, then looks at her face to ensure this is what she wants. Her delighted, giddy smile confirms his actions are perfect.

The couple make their way to the door.

Flynn’s hand touches the doorknob.

It slowly turns…

…



…






…

…And what happened next?

…Well, in Detroit they claim…

”WAIT!”

…That Crack’s drunken rage…

…Put him in the mood to maim…

”I’LL…

That moment, Ed the Ostrich sits down next to Crack on the sofa.

As Flynn and Crack lock eyes...

To be continued…