The Door

The Bores

Mr. Crumly was a bore that fell upon an ancient, unknown antiquity. His rough transparent hairs, pampered and pliable to the palette of various tones of flesh. His glassy induction of beady eyes ricocheted excessively from left to right. He had a well maintained and stylized wardrobe consisting of tiny black shoes that shined of a lustrous hue, a cordial tailored suit, and a silk drawn ocean blue tie. His shoes were polished to the pinnacle of absolute perfection. Scuff marks were buffed away and meticulously cleaned. Their reflective image, a shining departure from most of the other bores modestly denounced apparel. Their shoes were mucky and gloomy. They were icky and stinky. Their skin waxy and un-mudded. For bores enforced a healthy dose of mud to moisturize and preserve their skin for a perfectly pliable condition. Without the full nourishment of green, BromBat water, the moisture and chemicals it brings; they slowly dry out and become parched and wrinkled. This pale future loomed sorrowful over their obsessive brood, for water was literally their life. The innate substance of darkened despairity in the gulping satisfaction of their carnivorous ranks.

A stack of papers fluttered amidst Mr. Crumly's very cluttered desk. As if a war had ensued, darkened and tattered; making him their new target. Their bomb station and ammunition yard. Rummaging through the disheveled, ink-driven decorum; he found the proper papers stamped “ISE” which stood for “immediately send to earth”. A bony bluish finger exuded a razor sharp nail, clipping away the paper clip that resided at the top of the packet. Opening the file, he gently slid the papers out in a carefully, hesitant manner. Applying his gray stained speckled monocle, he sneered as he groped, glaringly at the bright-green paper. "Mr. Bedecker, You have been assigned to a Mr. A. W. Crenshaw. Is that correct?" Mr. Crumly winced and studied the bores "suit of flesh" before him. "Yes, sir, I have. Glancing down slowly at his paper, Mr. Crumly silently studied the procedures before him. Wiggling his nose and scratching the 2nd of his three eyes, he slowly continued. "You are a 39-year-old car salesman from Wyoming. You are married and have 4 kids. You have some anger issues, smoke 2 pack's a day, love Philly cheese steaks, and are cheating on your wife Delores. "Yes sir Mr. Crumly, I'm on it right away!!! The little bore in the suit beamed from antennae to antennae. His smile, expressive and pure in its joyful banter of pride and self amusement. Bowing in a dainty courtesy, he sat backwards in his fine leather chair. Inside the “skin suit” there gathered an array of multiple flashing lights and levers that controlled the body that he ruled. His view screen was in expanded HD, and he had full administering control over sight, sound, emotion, body temperature, and many other various spectrums associated with what is called a “human being”. He stood excitedly in front of a colossal gray door etched of ancient letters and numerals. Its contraption mingled together in microprocessors, panels, and a main black control button. The door was labeled "34,765". Its girth was immense within the gigantic utterance of its throbbing vibrations. The wood structure was prestinely carved in its gradual accenting of a striking illumination. A green emitting consistently beamed in a lavishly augmented celestial darkness. Its widened perception played in a covert trickery to the newly installed hinges and brackets upon its custom making. A black button initiated the drawing procedure that would suck the bore into its cosmos of an alien destination. A hidden darkness formulated to envelope a loose construction. Briskly tapping into the atrophy of space and limitless time. Its clocked intercession twisting a gruesome spectacle of finely adapted duskiness. Switched to a relaying acquisition of placing an individual on the other side of an unknown alien world. Plated together upon rusted edges and trousers maintained with brown belts shining. The small bore lightly engaged the big black button before him. Its shimmer of boundless blackness projected outwards in a piercing, unbalanced display. Coaxing the jerking doorway to vehemently explode into an open submission. Firing the inward transistors and various mechanisms into a jumping allegiance. Its parts ticking thematically to the widened eyes of the bores visual ecstasy. An outlined internal screeching summoned the rebirth of a dying star, the source of the door's infinite power. It hung soldered upon the middle metallic brackets of the door's shadowy frame. Its radiating emission of unfathomable power chimed into existence. A vacuum effect coursed through the room and swept the bore and his machine quickly inside its dwelling. The stench of rotten Ecari eggs and blue lubricating fluid filled the night's air. Its wondrous implication of a rivaling odor joining invisible forces in the shadows.

The door dashed to a slamming coldness. Its shockwave reverberating through the gallery of various doors and bores that stood amidst it. Above the door, a sign flashed slowly. In big red letters, it said:

"Earth - Boston - Massachusetts - 2076"