#101: Secret-Secret Weapon

I wandered into the living room, sifting through the newspaper clippings. I had difficulty absorbing the information they reported: flying robots had attacked the Youthful Permutations headquarters up in Troy, just north of Detroit, in broad daylight. All of this had taken place within the past week, apparently, while I, holed up in my apartment, hadn’t heard a word about it.

#100: Dr. Sax

Next thing I know, I was back at the Inland Ocean Archeological and Anthropological Institute. The afternoon sunlight was still beaming through the windows on all sides of the top floor of the Wardell Building, through the stacks and stacks of rare books and manuscripts.
        I found myself seated alone, in the cross-legged position, on the oriental rug, barefoot in my athletic shorts and tank top. I looked at my hand; my class ring was still there; I reached over to my book bag—I knew I was back in my native reality because my butthole still hurt from my weekend with Trent. I fished out my wristwatch out of my book bag; the date hadn’t even changed; barely a few minutes had passed.

#99: They Pronounce the Doctor…Braindead!

I didn’t know what to expect when the Time Turntable began to materialize along the side fence in our Ann Street back yard. After all, at different times, I had seen Yarn Man, Kozmik Kat, Liquid Man, the Silver Age Megaton Man, and the Mod Puma appear or disappear on it. But those times all occurred in another reality—my native reality—not this weirdly alternative, civilian one.
        I knew even less what to expect from the oval opening of the Dimensional Doorway over the driveway—which, I hasten to add, appeared of its own accord, without the surrounding hardware, as an eerie, gaping aperture into a wild, unruly cosmic chaos.

#98: George Has a Gun

“Comic Coo-Coo Boo,” said Simon, who had been making Jackson Pollock compositions on the stainless-steel tray of his high chair with his noodles and spaghetti sauce. He was the only one of us able to gaze directly at the Cosmic Cue-Ball with his cyclopic, red-lensed goggles, while the rest of us were practically blinded.
        The incandescent orb looked just the way it was drawn in the comic books, but instead of harsh, black outlines, it burned as brightly as tungsten. The Orb of Great Power, as I’d heard it once described, hung in mid-air over us only briefly before it darted through the kitchen toward the open back door, stopping at the screen. Duchess, barking, chased after it; leaping up, her front paw came down on the handle of the screen door. Her weight carried her out of the house and onto the patio, and the Cue-Ball, sensing an opening, darted out into the back yard.

#97: Secret Identity

Daddy backed his red pickup into the driveway of the Ann Street house. I opened the passenger door, careful to unload my crutches first, then let myself out gently. My balance seemed much improved and my leg felt better, although something told me that if I tried to walk I’d still be rather lame.
        It was clear my perceptions had skipped forward in time once again. Judging from how the leaves on the trees and shrubs were turning, we were in the latter half of September now, at least.