The Boy: 2!


For Casey,

Best friends forever dog.


The demonic boy awoke from the anesthetic sleep that the doctor had put him in. As soon as he was fully awake, which took 36 days and twenty-two minutes, he ripped from his bandages and kicked the doctor squarely in the face. The doctor wasn't very happy about this, as his nose broke instantly upon contact. Fortunately, the doctor had taken some of the boy's noses, and now he had six. "You broke one of my noses you foul demon!" yelled the doc.


                The doctor picked up the operating table, (he had taken some of the arms as well but the boy still had 32,) and hit the boy with it. The boy was going to say "Ouch," but he didn't have time before he flew through the wall. He landed roughly and rolled down some stairs. When he reached the bottom, he was greeted by a tall doctor in a lab coat. The doctor helped him up and then, for no reason at all, the doctor slapped him in the face, kicked him in the stomach, and threw him against the nearest brick wall he could find. The boy bounced off the brick wall and landed on another operating table that was being wheeled to an operating room. "No!" the boy cried in his most demonic voice. This wasn't hard to do because he was a demon after all. "I will not be operated on again! Never again!"


                Unfortunately, the boy had landed on some siringes that had been placed on the table, and at that very moment, they all released, injecting the boy with tons of strange and interesting drugs. The boy suddenly grew to a size that even godzilla would be jealous of, and he crushed the operating table, as well as the doctors, under his own weight. It was funny how the doctors reminded him of his parents all crushed like that.


                Well basically the boy destroyed the hospital with one simple blast of his breath. He destroyed several other buildings the same way. And then, he shrank. "Darn," the boy said. "And I was just getting to the good part."


                Immediately after he had said this, he was shot by about 6000 tranquilizer darts that had been meant to hit the monster that was terrorizing the citty. The boy's demon self wasn't affected by the tranquilizer drug at all, but it was unfortunately affected by the darts. "Holy demon!" cried one of the tranquilizer-shooting bullies. "There's a very holy demon over there."


                A pastor who was innocently walking by with a shotgun in one hand and a collection plate in the other said, "I've been a pastor for 2.6 days and I ain't never seen a holy demon in my life." He then saw the demon and said, "Holy demon!" Following this, he shot him. This put another, much larger hole in the demon, and it made him mad. He was so mad in fact that he collapsed unconscious on the ground and was promptly hit by six busses, a large SUV, and a U.S. army tank. Fortunately, this woke the boy up, whereupon he was shot by one of the tank's missiles at extremely close range. This made the boy fly up into the air. For those who are wondering, he did in fact fly several thousand feet into the air, not just two or three. He knew he was going to die, and he hated it.


                The boy landed safely in a land-filled ocean, a sort of paradoxical happening if I do say so myself, and was instantly hit by a set 65 torpedo which was actually aimed at what appeared to be a small piece of a wheel. Up he flew again, and once again it was thousands of feet. He landed on a very sad street which was cracked and warped all over the place. The street was crying and every now and then, little gouts of sewer water spurted up from it. "Why are you crying?" asked the boy just seconds before he smashed into the street.


                "Ouch!" the street cried when the boy hit it. "That really really hurt. But to answer your question, I'm crying because so many have died on this street, I mean, on me. IT was all because of one bit of trash. It exploded and killed more people than I can count on my fingers."


                "You don't have any fingers," the boy said as his demon-like claws began ripping through the street.


                "I know, but a whole lot of people were killed just the same. Would you stop that? It really hurts. Anyway, there was also this helicopter pilot who was brought down by this same bit of trash mixed with his own stupidity. He would have landed on me if I hadn't cracked. It's so sad."


                Thinking about this made the street crack some more and its crying continued. Unfortunately, it cracked right where the boy was lying, and the boy  plummited headfirst down into, you guessed it, haties! Could things get any worse?


                The boy landed on a sharp spike and was instantly impaled. The boy, however, was able to pull himself from the spike and then stand up. "what up, dog," a voice said from behind him.


                The boy turned around only to have his head sliced at by a sword. The sword, puzzled that it had not killed the boy, tried again. The boy just ripped the sword off of the wall and stabbed the spike with it. The spike screamed and died. "Hello, you must be Satan," said the boy.


"Why yes I am good sir," Satan replied suddenly British. "But I must address the fact that you just survived two attempts to brutally slaughter you. Nobody ever does that." Then in his old voice, "So why didn't you die man?"


                "I don't really know," said the boy. "I've kind of been through a lot, and at this point I don't know how I'm still alive."


                "Well you should feel lucky, boy," said the guy in the pilot's uniform who was just walking out of a house that had suddenly appeared in front of them. "I've died twice now, hundreds of times down here. I've had my share of bad luck too. Don't you think so, S-Class?"


                Yeah man, but listen up. This guy is really starting to irritate me. What's the point of keeping him here if I can't even kill him? Where's my fun supposed to be?"


                "He does have quite a lot of holes in him though," the pilot said.


                "Yeah, but that's not going to do any good. I'm sending you out of here. Get a life. Or better yet, get dead."


                After having said that, Satan spat at the boy. This sent the boy flying once again thousands of feet into the air. "Why does this always happen?" the boy screamed.


                "I don't know," Satan shouted back. "Maybe you're just cursed. What did you try to do, eat your parents' guts or something?"


                "Well, actually, yes," shouted the boy just before he flew up and back through the crack in the street.


                "That explains a lot," Satan thought to himself. "That boy's messed up."


                The boy flew up past the cracked street and landed on a new one at the feet of an old woman. The old woman, feeling threatened by the sudden appearance of the holy deamon, unsheathed her 300-foot walking stick and attacked the boy with it. She did a super combo and ended it with a tornado flame. "No!!!" screamed the boy who was once again flying thousands of feet into the air.


                Although the boy flew thousands of feet into the air, he only flew a few blocks away and landed hard on another street. He lay there for awhile, and he was soon approached slowly by an asian-looking fellow. "Excuse me," said the fellow when he walked up to the sprawled boy.


                "What?" the boy asked. He was unsurprised to see this Asian man. Nothing surprised him anymore. Plus, he figured that being polite to this guy may prevent him from getting hurt again. "Can I help you?"


                "Do you know where I can find the Heavens?" the man asked in a slightly monotone voice.


"No," said the boy. "But I know where you can find Hell. It's just a few blocks that way." He pointed to the spot where the street was cracked right open and fire was shooting from it. It could clearly be seen and there was absolutely no missing it by anyone anywhere.


                "Can you give me directions?" asked the man so very politely.


                "It's over there!" shouted the boy who was already angry with this guy. "How could you possibly miss it. Look!"


                "Over there... I got it. Sure. yeah. Thank you very much."


                "What's your name, man?" asked the boy who was suddenly curious. Something was obviously wrong with this guy and the boy wanted to know who to tell the authorities to pick up later.


                "Ryo Hazuki," answered the man in the same tone. And then a few seconds later, "Oh no."


                "What?" inquired the boy. "What's wrong?"


                "Iyah!" cried Hazuki suddenly loud.

                Then came the most unexpected thing ever. Hazuki picked up the boy, and then performed the lunging strike and the iron palm to the boy. He then performed the wild throw which sent the boy flying again! Wow, what an adventure this is for our hero.

                Unfortunately, Ryo Hazuki's wild throw was very powerful and the boy once again flew thousands of feet into the air. The boy sighed. This was becoming a habit for him. He was about to land when he noticed a few street workers, Kung Lao, Shao Kahn, and Shang Tsung, opening up a sewer cover below him. "Tell me that I'm not going to land there," thought the boy. "Somebody please tell me that I'm not going to land there."


                "Watch out guys," cried Scorpion who was watching from afar. "That deamon's going to land there. I think you all should GET OVER HERE."


                For some reason, he said this last part kind of loudly. The boy didn't understand why. Well, he didn't really have time to try and figure it out. He landed hard on the street right next to the sewer opening. All the guys had moved out of the way, but Kung Lao seemed to have a harpoon-like spear stuck in his neck. "Whew," thought the boy. "That was close. At least I didn't fall into that sewer."


                It was at that moment that Kung Lao was pulled over to scorpion. Scorpion ripped the harpoon out of Kung Lao's neck, and suddenly threw it at the sprawled boy. It stuck in the boy's back and scorpion dragged him over, away from the sewer opening. Scorpion performed a ten-hit style-branch combo that popped the boy up into the air. "Ow oo ou hu ahh ow oo ou hu ahh Woe!" said the boy throughout the combo.


 Thankfully, Scorpions popup wasn't as powerful as Ryo Hazuki's wild throw and the boy just fell to the ground. When the boy arose again, Kung Lao threw his hat at him and hit him in the stomach, Shang Tsung impaled the boy with his sword threw the chest, and Shao Kahn shot a fireball at the boy's back which sent him flying again. As the boy flew, Shang Tsung's sword fell out of him and landed where he had been standing. Shang Tsung picked it up, and stabbed Shao Kahn with it, killing him instantly. Kung Lao's hat, however, did not fall out of the boy. The boy flew forward for a little while, and landed on his stomach, which drove the hat deeper into him, with his head less than an inch from the opening to the sewer. "Whew," thought the boy again through all the pain of having the hat jammed deeply in his stomach. "At least I didn't land in that sewer. How terrible would that be? Maybe my luck is changing for the better at last." He was wrong.


                It was at that moment that yet another unexpected thing occured. The Seven-foot Father, who had just finished a great tag team wrestling match with his partner the Seven-inch Mother, (There was no actual relation it was just a freaky coincidence,) came strolling down the street at that instant. As he walked past, he nudged the boy's head with his foot, causing that fatal plunge down into the sewers that I'm sure all my readers were anxiously awaiting. The boy screamed his most terrible deamon scream for aproximately 0.2 seconds, which was as long as it took for his head to hit the water. The boy came up quickly and was about to climb out of the disgusting sewer water when the innocent street workers decided they were just going to not work today, and they began closing the cover. "Wait!" cried the boy and Kung Lao at the same time. You see, the boy wanted to get out of there, and Kung Lao wanted his hat back.


                They were both too late. The cover was closed. "There's no way that I can open this alone," said the boy out loud.


                "hello there," said a voice from behind and below him.


                The boy turned around and looked down. He saw a very small man, about one foot and three inches tall by his calculations, standing there clutching a balloon lovingly in his arms. "Who are you?" asked the boy.


                "I am the idiotic film director," responded the idiotic film director. "I originally had a name, but the writer of this story promised that it would never be mentioned again."


                "Story?" inquired the boy. "What do you mean story?"


                "Oh never you mind. What brings you down to the place where me and my gorgeous balloon share a happy life together forever never to part no matter what the circumstances and no matter what may befall us and until death do us part and... Well, what brings you here."


                "Eeewwww," said the boy. "You're not going to tell me that you actually love that balloon are you?"


                "With all my heart I love this balloon, but you still haven't answered my question. Why are you here?"


                "It's kind of a long story. Basically I tried to eat the guts of my parents, and I ended up here."


                "That's the most disconnected pair of events I've ever heard," the director said feeling proud of himself for using such a big word.


                "Yeah well a lot of my life has been like that recently. Tell me something, though. Why are you here?"


                "It's kind of a long story," replied the director. "Basically I was directing a sequel to "The Country Bears," and now I'm here."


                "And you said my story was disconnected," remarked the boy. "Be more specific. How did you end up down here?"


                "Well I don't like to talk about this a lot, but I guess I have to talk about it sometime. You see, I lost my balloon one day and..."


                The director recounted the whole story. Everything including the seven-foot father. After it was over, the boy was confused. "Then whhy are you still here? This happened a while ago, right? The exit's right there. Well, at least you could fit through the exit which is right there." The boy was indicating a small crack between the sewer cover and the street above. "Why don't you just climb up and get out?"


                "That's not good enough," said the director. "You know I can't trust you. I can only trust my balloon. I must wait for it to tell me the way out."


                The boy was about to explain to the idiotic film director that it was just a balloon and would never tell him anything when, to the boy's incredible bad luck, a current suddenly formed in the sewer and swept the boy away leaving the director alone with his balloon. That's right folks, the story goes on.


                Down the sewer went the boy. He didn't try to resist the current, as he figured that would only make things worse and probably give him more bad luck than he already had. So he just layed there and moved swiftly with the swiftly moving current. "Where is this thing taking me?" he asked himself. He was about to find out.


                Suddenly, the current ceased. The boy just stayed still wondering where he was. Then he heard one word. This word was screamed very loudly, and it seemed as though the one screaming it would lose his voice if he kept it up. The one word was this: "CHICKEN!"


                Although the initial screaming of the word gave the boy a little fright, what scared him more was that it came from directly above him. "Somehow I don't think that's a good thing," he thought. Then he looked up. He saw a pipe. He followed the pipe, and gagged with disgust. He saw the bottom of a toilet. "Uh-oh," he said out loud.


                What happened next was an event completely out of a science fiction horror story. The boy heard the flush. The boy was rained on by, well, you know what he was rained on by, and then, out of nowhere, a swirl of water enveloped the boy and began pulling him upwards towards the pipe. It seemed that whomever was on that toilet had plugged it up so badly that everything was coming up, including the boy! The boy, who you must remember still closely resembles a holy deamon, was pulled through the pipe and would have been crushed had he been normal, but he has survived everything else in this story so why not let him survive this as well. The boy swirled and rose, swirled and rose. And there was the toilet. The boy was thankful that its occupent had already risen from it and was preparing to leave, because if he hadn't, the boy would have had quite the view. The boy popped up through the toilet, and fell out of it. Sixteen of his heads smacked against the sink, and the other 7 or so hit the floor. By the way, it must be mentioned that when I say that the boy fell on his face, I mean that he fell forward and his front-most face hit the ground. This may clear up a lot of confusion. Anyways, back to the story.


                The kid standing at the sink washing his hands, his hair, and all of his clothes was astonished to see the thing pop out of the toilet. "Woe!" cried the kid. "What are you? Who are you? You know, you sort of look like a chicken."


                As soon as he said this, the floor near him was covered with the most unpleasant of substances. "What are you doing?" asked the boy who was also covered with the most unpleasant of substances ffrom being rained on. "And furthermore, who are you?"


                "Hi! I'm Bob. I am very sorry about what just happened. It's just that whenever I think about chicken I..."


                If the floor was covered before, it was flooded now. Apparently Bob lacked some important control whenever he thought of chicken. The boy couldn't take it anymore. "I'm out of here," he yelled.


                The boy ran for the door. He reached it, opened it, and ran out. Unfortunately, he had not gone far before he ran right into a woman with an indian headdress on and some very disgusting pants. She cut another hole in the boy with her kitana, and took a skin sample which she would use for a ritualistic sacrifice later. "Hi," she said warmly with a cold stare. "I'm Bob's teacher. Is Bob ready to go back to class yet?"


                "I don't know," the boy said dumfounded. "Is he? He made quite a mess in there if that's what you mean. I mean look at me. I'm covered with it. Is that what you teach him to do? Is that what class he's going back to? You do look pretty bad yourself, you know."


                "He made a mess, did he?" questioned the teacher who was totally avoiding the boy's other questions as well as attempting to meld with the wall behind her.


                "Yes," said the boy who's anger was building up like pressure to finish a story on time. "He made quite a large mess. And what, may I ask, are you doing?"


                "Oh nothing," said the teacher as she wrapped one of her legs around the boy's twelfth head from the front which covered that particular head with whatever might have been on those pants. The boy had a feeling he already knew what it was, but it was a little late at that point. "I'm going to have to tell his mother to get him and bring him home. She's waiting in the office."


                "Well you just do that then," said the boy who was madder than ever. "And I'll wait here so nothing else happens to me."


                "Okay!" said the teacher cheerfully. Then she suddenly began spinning like the Tazmanian Devil, and suddenly zipped off. Three seconds later she was back. "She's on her way," the teacher said.


                Then approached the first truly normal-looking person the boy had seen in a while. A woman who looked just like a traditional mom with a purse and everything. As she walked past the boy to go and get her son, she handed him a plate of chicken. "Huh?" asked the boy. "Where did this come from. She wasn't holding anything a minute ago except for her purse."


                The boy was actually talking to the teacher, but it was Bob's mom who answered. "That's where it came from," she said as she handed another fully-loaded plate to the teacher.


                "Wow!" cried Bob. "That's amazing."


                He picked up a slice of chicken, a chicken slice if you want to get technical, and took a bite. It was good. It was really good. It was so incredibly good that the boy went flying. "What? Again? Now that's weird."


                The boy flew thousands of feet into the air, broke through the ceiling of the school which was about 20000 feet up, and flew some more. This time he flew a long ways. When he was finally landing, he looked down. "Oh no!" he cried. "I'm right over a pit containing thousands of hungry rabid tunafish! Oh no! I don't think I'll survive this one."


                As he fell, he saw the hungry rabid tunafish devouring a man who looked like he was on drugs and a woman with an extreme amount of back hair. "Oh great," he said aloud. "That was certainly a sight to behold."


                And so he fell into the tunafish pit holding his plate of chicken all the while. As soon as he landed, the tunafish all merged into one super-duper tunafish which swallowed the boy whole, decided they didn't like the taste of him after all he had been through, and vomitted him back into the air. They did not, however, vomit up the plate of chicken.


                And now the climactic moment in the story. This is it folks, the story is almost over. Yep, it's just about ended now. So listen up!


                The boy flew thousands of feet into the air, as if you didn't already know. He flew and he flew, not knowing where he would land, what would happen to him, or what crazy character he might meet. On he flew. He flew on and on. He just continued to fly. "I wonder where I will land, what will happen to me, and what crazy character I shal meet," he wondered as he drifted smoothly onward. The flight became so incredibly smooth that the boy fell asleep.


                Oh the pain. The great and terible pain the boy suddenly experienced was totally unexpected. It had been awhile since the boy had actually felt pain. Nothing else had hurt him that much. This was different, though. This hurt a lot. It was too much to bare. The boy screamed. "Hi there," said a voice. "Will you be my best friend?"


                The boy looked around through the haze of pain and saw the most unbelievable sight. He saw a human hand devouring a hamburger and looking at him with bright eyes. That's right folks. It's the one you've all been waiting for, the final character in this story, the most awaited, the most anticipated, and by far the most hated, the one, the only, Bill! "What ouch ouch are ouch you ouch ouch talking ouch about ouch?" asked the boy as best he could.


                "I'm Bill, and I know that you want to be my best friend. I'm so cool, how can you resist it. Ha! I learned that "resist" word from Casey! I'm so cool! Yes I'm so cool! Hey, what are you doing on my grill?"


                "He's burning to death," replied the grill. "And I'm the one burning him. I would like to stop, but it is my job after all. You might want to get him a doctor before his goose is cooked."


                "No please!" cried the boy in fear. "Not that! Just let me die! Just let me die!"


                It was unfortunate for the boy that Bill still wanted to be his friend. "I'm going to get you to a doctor so I can save your life and be a hero just like a, well, a hero," said Bill. "Man am I cool or what?"


                "No!!!" the boy cried out in a final hopeless scream of pain. "No!!!"


                The last words the boy heard before he fell unconscious were, "You're my best friend."


                So here he is. The boy is back in the hospital again. One doctor suffered a heart atack instantly upon seeing the deamon-like boy with several heads and arms. Another doctor kicked one of the heads to see if it would pop off. It didn't and the boy remained unconscious. When the boy finally awoke, he was once again strapped to an operating table."No!" he tried to scream, but the anesthetic had already taken hold. His last thought before he slipped into slumber was not of the horrible things that had happened to him so far, it was a realization. "That was the weirdest twenty minutes of my life."


                                The End.

And oh yeah, Kung Lao never got his hat back.