Chapter 1 - A Convening Store
Ventura Contigo stumbled in through the door of the convenience store, about to make the life of the poor clerk anything but convenient. Ventura was of average height, well groomed and wearing professional clothes, with an aura like the screen of an old television. There were buzzes and crackles about him that only some people could see, yet everyone could feel.
The clerk’s name was Sam Blightly. Sam was pleasant enough for someone working at a convenience store. Sam gave off the kind of vibe that made you want to share a beer with him, after he scanned the beer and you paid for it.
Ventura collected himself off the floor. “I’m here for a bicycle,” he said. Sam was intrigued.
Casting a surveying glance around the store, Sam turned to Ventura, and said “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t carry that product here. The door next to ours used to be the bike shop, Two-Tired, but they moved. If you want, I can Google where it moved on my phone for you though. They’re pretty lax about phone use here.”
Ventura was surprised. “You’re the most helpful person I’ve met on my journey!” Ventura was suddenly at the counter in front of Sam, apparently having slid there in a split second. He grabbed Sam’s hand and energetically shook it.
Sam sighed. He already didn’t like his job, and dealing with strung out weirdos was his third least favorite responsibility. He debated whether to shout for his manager, or to let the manager sleep off her daily Sugar Slushie & vodka hangover she was currently power-napping through.
Ventura suddenly snapped to attention. “I apologize profusely,” he profusely apologized. “I should probably ease my way into vigorous handshakes.”
Sam agreed with a stiff nod.
Ventura suddenly had an idea. “Let me share a beer with you, after you scan it and I pay for it.”
Sam looked at his phone, and saw that his shift was just about over. He could do worse than a free beer, and something about this shift was having him see buzzes and crackles surrounding this stranger. The stranger looked sane enough, aside from the strange behavior. Sam was also sorely in need of friends after moving to a new town and being stuck in his boring new job. Sam thought, what the heck. “OK”
After finishing up his shift and heading to the park across the street, both parties realized they hadn’t been introduced. Sam suggested Ventura go first
“Great! My name is Ventura. I’m going to save America through rock & roll.”
“My name is Sam, and I think I just got in over my head.”
Chapter 2 - Bicycle Chain Reaction
Sam was in disbelief. “You’re going to… save America?”
Ventura nodded.
Sam continued. “You’re going to use rock to do it? You need a bicycle for this? You’re serious?”
Ventura nodded to each question like a judge in his court.
Sam asked the million dollar questions: “So have you got any funds, musical talent, or a real game plan?”
Ventura’s answers to those questions would have put him 3 million dollars in debt. He looked away, scrunched up one side of his face, and slowly shook his head. “That’s part of the reason I need a bicycle. I figure if I travel enough I can find my way. It’s a more successful method than standing around, anyway.”
Sam downed his beer, hoping that clarity for this situation would be at the bottom of the bottle. “Why are you doing this? What do you really want from me?”
Ventura suddenly looked through Sam. “I can’t tell you right now because I can’t really explain it myself. It’s my calling, I know I need to do it, and I know there’s strange things happening in the world that are too unreal to believe. I don’t want to take this journey alone. I’m going to need helpful people. You’re a helpful person, even if you don’t have bicycles. I think you should join my crew.”
Sam was incredulous, agitated, and fascinated. “This sounds like gibberish, played backwards. Is the bicycle your ship? You can’t have a crew with no ship. Come to think of it, you can fit me and you on a bicycle. I can’t even leave, I’ve just moved to this town. I have my job.”
“Your boring looking job” Ventura chimed in
“That’s besides the point, Ventura. I’ve got responsibilities. I’m tired. I’ve got pops and crackles in the corners of my vision, I need to get some sleep.”
Ventura turned a warm shade of white. “What did you say?!”
“Which part? The last one? I’ve got that vision like when you’re groggy. That convenience store job is wearing me out.”
Ventura stood up from their bench with a jolt, knocking over the rest of the beer bottles, leaving nearly a dozen fallen soldiers on the ground. “Sam, I don’t think you believe me, but strange things are going to happen around you very soon and I think you’ll want to join me.”
Sam dropped his shoulders and sighed. “Look man, if you have a mission, I wish you luck. I’ve heard crazier and you seem like a legit kind of guy, but saving anyone through rock isn’t part of my gameplan right now.”
Ventura looked both like he understood and he wanted to shake Sam at the same time, then he turned to look at a distant building. “I’m staying in a local motel, with an igloo theme for the rooms. I’m bummed you don’t believe in my mission yet, but I respect your choice not to join.”
Sam was relieved. He enjoyed meeting oddballs but a quest with Ventura was too much too soon.
Ventura thought for a second, then had a proposition. “Let’s exchange phone numbers. If you start to come around to believing me, shoot me a text and maybe you’ll join my crew after all.”
Sam saw no harm in this. They exchanged numbers and went their separate ways.
After Ventura got to his igloo, he poured himself a mini-strong drink from the mini-bar. He looked out the window. He heard the pops and crackles around him grow louder. He smelled burnt maple as a flower suddenly sprung out of the ground near his ice-colored bed. Out from the flower came a voice like an old-timey radio singer, which spoke to Ventura “Mr. Contigo! How’s the quest to save America?” Ventura grabbed the flower and spoke into it like a microphone. “Not great, necessarily. I may have made and lost a powerful ally today. I’m hoping he gets back to me before he loses his vision. He could see my aura, I’m hoping he starts to notice that things aren’t right in his world.”
Chapter 3 - Soda Pressing
Meanwhile, Sam was relaxing in his shoddy, cozy apartment. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear them. How crazy was today? he thought. He hoped his vision would clear up soon.
Sam wanted a soda, but he knew he was out. He headed to the soda machine in the basement of his building to get one. While getting his ice cold beverage, he noticed he could feel the bass of a nearby party. This wasn’t unusual in his apartment complex, there were plenty of young people living it up. The weird thing was, the bass seemed to be coming from beneath him.
Sam looked down with a curious glance. He noticed a gold strand on the ground, leading past the laundry machines. Had that always been there? Considering the day’s strangeness, he couldn’t not follow it.
He walked along the strand, eager to end his curiosity and crack open his soda. He really wanted that soda. He saw the strand end at the bottom of a wall. Sam laughed in relief, it was just a loose thread from the laundry machines. Probably from a blanket. The bass was the low hum of one of the old driers. He nearly giggled.
Locating the nearest trash bin, he leaned over to pick up the thread and do his part to keep his complex clean. Thread in hand, he gave it a tug to get it from the wall. With a great crack, the wall swung open, still attached to the thread.
Sam’s jaw dropped in disbelief. The wall had opened to reveal a party, with fog and lights and dozens of guests and the whole shebang. Sam couldn’t believe it. Was this what Ventura was talking about?
Sam took a closer step, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Where was this place even located? As he gradually started to see better, he noticed something even stranger. Despite a humanoid appearance, the guests were covered in scales, all had tails, and seemed to enoy flicking their tongues.
Sam started having a mild panic attack. No, THIS was the weirdness Ventura was talking about. Sam had accidentally crashed a secret party of snake-people. One of them, suddenly noticed him standing there. Sam gulped. The snakeman walked up to him, gave him a once over, and narrowed his snake eyes. Sam nearly collapsed as the snakeman readied to open his mouth. Sam closed his eyes and prepared himself to be swallowed whole by this monster.
“Hey man, what kind of jerk only brings a 12 oz soda bottle to a party?” the snakeman asked.
