Immolation Ex: The Knower (COMPLETED)

Chapter III

"I have hands again! Woo Hoo!" Dustyn slapped both of his newly discovered appendages on his face a little too hard. "Ow, shit! I can feel, too! Look Geppeto, I am a real boy!" he said dancing around, imitating a puppet on strings.

"Stow it, rippledick. No one wants to hear your bullshit!" Dustyn spotted a very large Asian man walking across the bright empty white space toward him. He strode up to Dustyn, grabbed him by the neck and drew his arm back.

"Hang on a second..." the young man said, frightened.

The man brought his fist forward, opened it, and patted Dustyn on the face. "Ah'm just kiddin'! You did make that call to run, there Dustyn. Had we waited even a second or two longer we might not be here. Wherever here is?" The rotund stranger wrapped his arms around Dustyn and squeezed. "But, I'm still pissed about ya' killin' me an' all."

"Danny? Is that you? I would have never thought you were Asian. I know...sorry, I didn't mean to stereotype."

"I'm not Asian."

"Yes, you are dummy." Dustyn and Danny both turned as they heard Angel, the southern belle's voice.

Dustyn wore a strange look.

"What crawled up you and died? What's up with that face?" Angel asked.

"What do you mean? I'm not looking at anyone like anything. It's just...Okay, you know when you listen to some disc jockey on the radio for a long time and then when you finally see them in person...you're, like...whoa. It's like that I suppose."

"But, why are you givin' me that look? I mean, I get why you're lookin' at big boy here like that..." Angel patted a very large muscular arm. "Damn, Daniel."

Danny took his two large hands and placed them together as if he were about to pray, pointed them forward, and used them to divide Angel and Dustyn. He stepped between the pair and yelled, "Will someone tell me whut the hell is goin' on? What do you mean I'm Asian?"

"Because you are."

Angel giggled. "Danny, you're silly. How does someone forget what they look like?"

"The hell you all say. Well, what about you cheerleader? You don't look like no cheerleader to me. You look like you just got outta Camp Lejeune."

"Whassup Malibu Demi?" Dustyn poked Angel on the arm.

Angel reached her hands up to the top of her head and ran her fingers through her short dark hair. "Where did my hair go?" Angel patted her hands over the finger-length locks on her skull. She tugged a few strands out and examined them. "It's chestnut brown? I would never buy that color." Angel grabbed the front of her pure white gown and looked down through the opening for her head. "Oh...my...gawd! It is chestnut brown."

"Heh heh...carpets matchin' them drapes, honey? Well, more like window valances I'd say." Dustyn laughed.

"Dick." Angel was not laughing. She pushed Dustyn back and examined him like she was inspecting the color of paint on a new installation of drywall. "Well, I didn't imagine you'd be lookin' the way you do. It does look like your mama and daddy had some good genes, boy. Wooowee!"

"Go ahead. Keep it coming. I have heard it all...butterball, pac-man, dough-boy, and thousands of other wonderful cultural icons of the last two centuries. People are so creative when they are in asshole mode. Look, I get it. I've haven't been under 250 since I was in eighth grade. So, it's not a big deal."

"She's not lying about your appearance, Dustyn," issued a voice from the white nothingness.

"Who said that?" Danny spun around attempting to locate the speaker.