Category Archives: creative writing

Turnabout Intruder

When I come home late at night from E3, I toss my keys on the table, and say hello to Ferris.
I drop my fully-loaded “X-Box” bag-o-schwag on the floor, and sit down at my computer to check emails and make sure the website is running okay.
It’s late at night, and the rest of my house is asleep. The only sound other than my typing is that soft comforting hum of the fan in my computer. The room is dark, except for the light falling off of my monitor.
He’s sitting on my desk, just outside the monitor’s soft glow, staring at me.
“Hey, Wesley, I’ve got some good news.”
“You’ve had a change of heart, and you’re going to put me in a Jello mold with Counselor Troi and Princess Leah?”
“No. First of all, Princess Leah isn’t even the right scale for you –”
“Who said anything about scale? I’m articulated!”
“Do you want to hear the good news, or not?”
He sighs the perturbed yet insecure sigh of an 18 year-old. He strains his little plastic body against the twisty-tie which is holding him to his cardboard backing.
“Yes.”
“You’re way more popular that I thought. People have bid nearly 300 dollars for you on eBay! You’re a hit, Crusher! They love you!”
He stops straining and looks at me, incredulous.
“What?”
“Yeah! Take a look.”
I pick him up and turn him to face the monitor.
“Hey, slow down, jackass. You’re going to give me motion sickness.”
I wonder if this is the correct doll. I wonder if I’ve picked up the Evil Wesley Crusher, instead. I spin him around again, and look for the tell tale goatee, but it’s not there. I guess he’s just cranky.
“Dude! Take it easy!”
“Sorry.”
I slowly turn him back around, and point him at the monitor. I click the URL, and show him the bidding.
“See? Isn’t that cool? All this time we thought people hated us, but they like us, Wesley! They really like us!”
He is silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion.
“Yeah. That’s….well….that’s really cool,” he says, and I swear I can feel the cardboard shudder a little bit in my hands.
“Hey, Wheaton,”
“Yeah?”
“Can you just put me down on the desk for awhile? I’ve…uh…I think I have something in my eye.”
“Are you crying, Wesley?”
“Shut up, Wheaton.”

Mirror, Mirror

I’m in my garage, digging through a box of stuff, trying to find my Awful Green Things From Outer Space game.
I’m on the cold concrete floor, looking through the open box. I move aside some books and find my game. As I lift it out of the box, it reveals this Cadet Wesley Crusher action figure, just sitting there in the bottom of the box.
I look at him, wondering whether I should just look away and pretend that I didn’t see him, or take him out and say hello.
After an awkward silence, I pick him up and say, “Hey, how you doin’?”
He just stares back at me, silent and stoic from within his plastic cell.
I consider him for a moment and tell him, “you know, you look sort of cool in this uniform. You should have stuck around a bit longer, so you could have worn it more.”
He gives no response, and I pause a moment to admire his perfect hair. I run my hand through my own unwashed hair, and my fingers get thick with yesterday’s water wax. I wonder if his perfect hair still smells like Sebastian Shaper hairspray.
His eyes burn into mine, his blank stare mocking me, and I can’t take it any longer.
I put him back into the box, and as I’m about to put an unopened box of 1990 Topps NHL trading cards on him he says, “Wait!”
I lift up the box of cards, and he’s looking up at me, his smug confidence replaced with sadness.
“Hey, I don’t want to stay in this box any more. You gotta let me out.” His green eyes implore me to release him.
“Sorry, Wesley, but if I take you off of that card, you’re worthless.”
“Well, at least let me come sit on a shelf in your house! This box is cold and dark, and since you took out the Ren and Stimpy plush toys in December, there isn’t even anyone to talk to!”
I think of the years he and I spent together. I think back to our falling out, and I can’t believe that someone I was so close to has become such a stranger, and I know what I must do.
“You’re right, Wesley. You can’t stay in this box any longer. It’s just not right. I’m going to find you a new home. Someplace where you will have lots of other action figures to talk to, and maybe even a collectible plate or two.”
“You mean…you’re going to put me on eBay?”
“Yep.”
“No! You suck, Wheaton!”
“Shut up, Wesley.”