TRANSMIGRATION (an illustrated story)

(Note: this comic was written in 2002 and imported from my old website in 2024.)

"Hi. My name's Cole. Today sucked the usual...hah."

As he slumps home after an extra horrific day pondering whether or not to even GO home, Cole goes over the terrible events in the Principal's office again and again. "How did he know?"

One of Cole's odder habits is his tendency to narrate his life to himself, as if he were in a movie, third person singular. Usually he even has a soundtrack going on in the background, in his head. Today, with himself the central, and only, character in his own shitty life-make-believe-movie, he wonders what he could've done different. Gradually, hapless bystander, crimefighter and criminal all morph into one as he (OK, "I") wander the brittle city streets, evading detection by enemy aircraft, when who should appear but...

...some guy on a motorcycle?

Who is now turning around and stopping. But it turns out I know him. He's this guy Ryan I see in school. I've always been sort of scared of him. But he's ok, though I've never really talked to him before. He's sort of above me.

"Hey Cole, I thought that was you. Thought you'd take a walk on the freeway?"


"Funny man". For some reason I told Ryan then about Eric Hutzel and Barnett and Mr Booth, the principal, but he wasn't even surprised. I decided Ryan was a little less scary than I'd thought. He told me in 8th grade how Eric once
said he'd kick the spokes out of Ryan's bicycle, total b.s. says Ryan. Eric was a psycho, but to Ryan he was mainly a chickenshit; no way was he gonna mess with Ryan's stuff, cause Ryan would kick his ass he said, which made me laugh. Then he offered me a ride.

Yeah like I'm going to turn down my first ride on a motorcycle, even if it is on back. Actaully it felt sort of a safe back there, lodged against Ryan's shoulders. The backpack wanted to catch the wind but my arms were tight around his shirt. I didn't care where we went, so long as it was away. Eventually Ryan told me about his secret hideaway. I
eagerly accepted the invite. A half-hour later, we were there.

It was an abandoned farmhouse. There were acorn trees all over, and lots of junk, which in a place like this probably goes without saying. He shut off the bike and I took off my jacket and looked around.

It was in sorry shape, but I was enjoying myself. After all it was away from everything, it was a good place to hide out. You could tell we both started to totally relax.

"It's been neglected for in a while," he said. Yeah well, what hasn't? Ryan must've spent some time here; inside there was a space cleared out complete with a foam pad and a Coleman lantern. I realized that Ryan slept here.

Then we went out back and he showed me this spot he liked that looked down on the Fraser Valley.

Later I explored a bit more, looking for treasure among the junk, while Ryan talked about his plans for the place. We wound up playing keep away with an old chrome Christmas ornament Ryan left in my backpack.

We had more fun with that Christmas ball than I'd had all Summer! I couldn't believe how Ryan and I were so at ease together.

We must've rough-housed for a long time, cause it was getting dark out.

Then a miracle happened. Ryan grabbed my shirt, pulled me down onto the ground, and straddled my chest. I was pinned, helpless, and couldn't seem to get away from his eyes.

What happened next wasn't exactly what I'd dared fantasize at the moment...

As we looked at each other, we realized that something wasn't right. Well, I mean besides two guys lying on top of each other for fun. Anyway, something else wasn't right. A hum was sounding in my ear; and growing louder. Something was happening, and it was bigger than anything in our, um, pants.

BZZzzzMMMmmmZZzzMMmmZZZZ!!!

The noise sounded like hornets, and became deafening while a huge electrical storm seemed to rage in our faces--static electricity cracked everywhere. I could feel it in my hair, and teeth and gums. Then we were suddenly bathed in white light. For a minute I thought insanely that police helicopters had tracked us down, ready to arrest us now that I'd had my unspeakable thoughts about Ryan. But the lights and noise kept going. I couldn't see past the glare...

Was the earth moving...?

Or just the farm?

"Umm...Where'd the truck go?"

Ryan was ecstatic: "I think its right where we left it. You can see it over the edge--look! I think we've overcome gravity! We're flying!!"

It must be a dream, but Ryan was right; we WERE flying. The truck was visible, far below...

Ryan, me, the motorcycle, the farmhouse, and most of the farm itself, hovered at an altitude of maybe 300 feet.

It was steady as a rock. The electrostatic buzzing noise gradually dissipated.

Meanwhile, interesting events were developing on the radar at the local North Pacific Homeland Security Monitoring Station (not the least of which was Captian Pesterville's attentions to a cute young E7 ranked recon officer.) "No response to our hailing, sir."

In the next few moments, planes were airborn.

"Flight leader to Alpha...estimated contact with the unidentified object in 95 minutes."

The boys found that there was nothing they could do in the circumstances, at least nothing about their airborn state. With so many impossible things happening, and so much unexplained, they both realized that their dicks were achingly hard. What was a little sexual release amid events such as these? After a good bit of rutting on Ryan's mattress in the old farmhouse, they drifted off to sleep.

Cole had the oddest dream...a gay superhero was walking down the street playing a male fertility symbol like a banjo, while his own 6-year-old self waited for his father to return from the war in Iraq. Also he wasn't naked.

The next thing he knew they both were awakened by a booming whisle, like bombs dropping--only it wasn't that. Ryan looked out the window to a sight that set all surprises up to now on a lower rung. It was a ship of some kind, had to be. It zoomed into the yard and settled down next to the motorbike. Gradually the sound faded as our heros jumped into their clothes.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know its all amazing, and you don't know me, and your mother said never to get into teleport transit vehicles with strange aliens--but here's the deal kids. See those fighter planes behind me about to strafe this farmhouse? Well their not here to ask questions, and I'm not here to answer them. Get your asses in here NOW!"

"And don't forget that ball!!"

"Flight leader to alpha, you're not gonna believe this, but there's a farm floating up in the sky! With a flying ship of some kind that just landed on it! We're heading in! All weapons armed!"

The boys dove into the transport, just in time.

The jets attacked with gusto.

Taking out everything on the surface that either moved or didn't.

Not a lot was left...unfortunately for nearly everyone involved, the shell bursts seemed to have disturbed the bouyant forces that until now held Ryan's hideaway in defiance of gravity.

"Not to worry, you're quite safe in here. Unfortunately the same can't be said for your little farm. If you'll look out the window, you'll notice its drifting toward town, and losing bouyancy. There's really nothing I can do."

Ryan and Cole watched as their hide-away home floated across the nearby highway...

...and began a steady descent as it moved toward their very neighborhood.

"Crystal's gallery is down there!"

"Not for long"

After the ensuing disaster, Sumas piloted his craft away from the scene. He was not an alien without empathy. Eventually, the boys had recovered enough to huddle in a corner in abject terror. Sumas began:

"Look my friends, I'm not here to hurt you; quite the opposite really. You two are lost. Here in this ship yes, but also in the world out there. You make love in a deserted house. You met by chance, in front of a setting sun. One of you fled from your home. The other had no home from which to leave. One of you carries the means to go anywhere you choose. This "means" has meaning. It is more than conveyance--it is the stolen sepulchre of a powerful race of overlords. They have been planting seeds of civilizations throughout the universe for thousands of eons. In the form of spores, the size of beach sand. But the Overloards have been extinct now for ages. Their crops--their children--have enjoyed every fruit of the celestial garden."

"One of these civilizations, we will call them the SOMMS--were fortunate to evolve earlier than most, for the Overlords planted the spores on the SOMM's home planet when the cosmos was still very young indeed. The SOMM's development over hundreds of thousands of generations gave rise to all matter of sublime and fruitful endeavor, in culture, science, and most of all, in biotechnology. The SOMMS were the first to stumble upon the gateway leading to the Overloard's life-giving secret---and with that they would be able to colonize entire galaxies. But to open that gate would be to unleash a mighty flood of terrible proportions. For the SOMMs are not gods, and their art and their machines, awesome and beautiful though they may be--cannot alone support the fabric of reality as we understand it. The floodway they open will spill the blood of every generation of Orbs, past and future, that exists. And without the Orbs--the universe itself, and all that exists in its wake--will collapse. Such is the warning left by the Overloards, a message whose existense can be found in only one place--the sepulchre in Cole's backpack. Its the size of a Christmas ball. It weighs almost 4 ounces. The Orbs, ever mischievious, child like, and annoyingly whimsical, have for whatever reason chosen you to keep it safe. It contains something besides the means to defeat the SOMMs (for the message is the means)--it contains detailed instructions for how to construct a machine that floats; an anti-gravity device."

"Goodness, where are my manners...have you eaten? Try one of these coconut shrimp; they're marvelous."

More later.

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